Almost Here
by SammyQuill
Summary: What will they do when the very goal that once united them now threatens to tear them apart? Angst!Royai, set post!canon. Warning: Not for happy readers. Completed, Royai Day, 2011.
1. The End's Beginning

**Disclaimer:** I neither own Fullmetal Alchemist (© Arakawa) nor Almost Here (© Delta Goodrem ft Brian McFadden).

**Acknowledgement:** A huge thank you goes out to Bookwrm389 who bestowed on me the incredible honor of beta-ing this piece of fan fiction. If this story makes any sense at all, it is because of her excellent editing skillz!

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><p><em>Did I hear you right..?<em>

'_Cuz I thought you said…_

"_Let's think it over…"_

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><p>The streets of Central were crowded with passersby exchanging early morning greetings on their way to work. The neighborhood schools chirped with the activity from all the students gathered fresh and eager for knowledge while the city's housewives chatted happily about their day's tasks.<p>

In an unremarkable street corner near a newsstand, Sergeant Denny Brosh stared out at the sky happily. This was all he and his fellow soldiers had worked for, the easy peace that now enveloped not just Central but most of Amestris. True, the democracy Fuhrer Mustang had envisioned was still a long way off but this was certainly a beginning – a fact that was driven home even more as the sergeant watched a woman hurrying three children along to school – one of whom was clearly an adopted Ishvalan.

With a small, contented smile on his face, the young man finally greeted the newsagent with a smile and asked for the day's _Times_. The man returned his smile as well as his change.

As expected, the front page was splashed with a huge picture of the current Fuhrer and the soon to be First Lady of Amestris. But before the report entered into the wedding ceremony that would be held in a month, it listed all of the qualities that made Roy Mustang a great leader and how, if anyone had doubted the man's dedication to peace for the country upon his inauguration, all such insecurities had been laid to rest with this move.

The Fuhrer's fiancé smiled beatifically from the paper, and for the first time, the soldier realized how beautiful she really was. Mustang was indeed a lucky man to be killing two birds with one stone. But then again, no one would have expected any less of a woman from such a background. Right there, standing next to the handsome leader of Amestris, the blonde beauty looked like she belonged.

Folding the paper up to peruse later, the young sergeant headed for HQ with a new spring in his step and the hope of perhaps running into Maria Ross before the workday began.

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><p>Though Roy Mustang had held the Fuhrer's office for almost a whole year now, it still sometimes felt odd to make his way into the now finally completely reconstructed Central Headquarters only to take a left to the Fuhrer's Private Wing. The large main office, the adjacent private meeting rooms, an elaborate and luxurious living quarter officially christened "Roy's nap room" by Lieutenant General Breda as well as the small but grand waterfall in the waiting area up front still took the Flame Alchemist by surprise now and then. And the fact that it wasn't the one-eyed homunculus about to greet him behind the door marked "His Excellency, The Fuhrer President" took him aback. But only for a moment as that would be about the time Havoc said something like "Almost late again, Chief!" bringing a small smirk to his lips.<p>

There was no such luck today as Roy entered the office. His huge circular office, usually a center of activity, was rarely ever completely silent, like it was that morning as he pushed open the door. And what was worse, he couldn't shake off the feeling that its occupants had only just stopped talking on his account. Even as his brain scrambled to assess the situation, his gaze landed straight on General Hawkeye who, from the looks of it, had been engaged in an intent discussion with Colonel Havoc only a moment ago.

"Am I interrupting something?" Roy asked slightly haughtily. It was _his_ office after all and it was also clear that no help was coming from the blonde woman who seemed to be looking at something very interesting on the plain wooden surface of her desk.

To his surprise, Captain Fuery was the first to speak up. "N-nothing sir, good morning."

The Captain's words seem to break a spell, pushing Havoc back to his own desk and causing Hawkeye to grab the first teetering tower of files within reach. Both Falman and Breda muttered similarly monotonous good mornings and continued about their work, leaving Roy to wonder what it was _this time_.

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><p>He didn't have to wonder for long. The answer came right as everyone was about to leave for lunch after an excruciatingly quiet morning that had done nothing to settle the feeling of dread in the Fuhrer's stomach. Usually, it was custom for everyone to go out to lunch save for General Hawkeye who had her meals delivered to her along with the Fuhrer's. Being Roy's personal bodyguard, she had few moments in which she could be found without him (this morning being one of those rarities where she had left a message stating she was heading into work early which left him free to use another escort) and today was no different.<p>

Except it clearly was. Because while normally the men rushed out of the office for lunch at top speed, today they were lingering, casting odd looks at Hawkeye and – did he imagine it? – himself.

The feeling of unease increased in Roy's stomach as the final soldier – Fuery, almost looking on the verge of tears – left the office, leaving Hawkeye to shut the door quietly behind him.

Starting on the offensive seemed like a good idea so Roy simply growled out, "Are you actually planning to tell me why all of my men look like crap today, General?"

The glare the blonde sent him a second later confirmed that starting off on such an uncivil note had been a bad idea.

"I wouldn't know Sir, it could be because they're going to miss me."

Suddenly, all the anxiety he had been feeling from earlier was clawing its way up from his stomach and into his chest, threatening to rip huge gashes in his flesh at the words coming out from Hawkeye's mouth.

"What…?" he fumbled, confused. Surely he couldn't have heard correctly. This didn't make any sense. She would never do something like that, least of all without discussing it with him beforehand.

"Affirmative, Sir, I have requested a transfer to East City," she said, the quietness in her tone belying the determined set of her mouth.

"And what, may I ask, will you be doing in East City?"

"The same thing I do here, I imagine," her reply is just as cool.

His head spun, he wanted to sit down, he wanted to lay it on the cool glass surface of his ornate desk and forget what she was saying, he wanted to grab her and shake her by the shoulders, ask her what brought this on? Instead, all he did was ask, "And you didn't feel it necessary to discuss this with me before making the decision?"

"I have given you ample warning, Sir," she said curtly. "The forms have all been filled and submitted for your perusal and a copy has also been sent to both Human Resources as well as Internal Affairs. If everything goes as it should, the transfer should be complete within six weeks – more than enough time for you to find a substitute secretary."

A substitute… what? Was that really all she thought she was to him? He could have had any number of pretty, made up girls from reception if he just wanted a paper pusher. But he wanted her, _Hawkeye_, with her no nonsense attitude, and her surprisingly sharp wit, and her spiced tea and gentle scolding and soft smiles when she thought no one was looking. She was an excellent assistant, a brilliant bodyguard and the closest thing Roy had to a best friend after Hughes had died. In fact, they were more than friends. At least, that was what he had always assumed. Maybe he was the one laboring under delusions?

But instead of telling her all of this, he simply looked at her, a veneer of anger now forming in his eyes. She hadn't come to the decision overnight. She had had time to think about it, she had gotten the paperwork ready; she had clearly discussed it with Colonel Catalina as the woman had been shooting him murderous glances lately, hell she had even told the guys before telling him. And if their reaction earlier this morning and just ten minutes ago was anything to judge by, she hadn't been marginally as cold as she was being now.

"This is highly irregular Hawkeye, and I would be within my rights to contact IA and tell them to ignore your request. Alternatively, I could always light the paperwork on fire and have them claim they never received such a document."

"Then you would leave me no choice but to resign from the force, Sir. Not even the Fuhrer can impose his will on someone else."

_But what about me? Roy? Can I impose my will on you… request, beseech you to stay with me? Look at me, it's me, Hawkeye!_ The words in his head came out differently than he had imagined.

"I seem to recall a promise to always watch my back, General. Should I consider that null and void now?" He knew he was aiming below the belt, but at this point, he was willing to try anything to keep her here. He didn't care why she was furious enough to be transferring or what he had done to deserve this. All that could be dealt with later as long as she remained where she belonged, _right by his side._

"A lot of promises have been nullified over the past year, _Your Excellency_," she said quietly, her eyes lowered. "This one shouldn't come as much of a surprise."

Later on, he would regret the next words that came out of his mouth, he would wish countless times as he lay awake at night, that he had never uttered them. But at that moment in time, all he felt was hurt at her using his title like a rebuke, like a _curse_, throwing it in his face to prove in some way that they were _different_. And all he wanted was to hurt her in return.

"Prepare a letter to IA immediately asking them to give your case top priority – by order of the Fuhrer. With my sign and seal, you'll be relocated half as quick as you would otherwise."

He was rewarded with a look of pure shock and horror frozen on her face for three seconds before she hurried to do as instructed.

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><p>The phone rang, sharp and shrill, jolting the Fuhrer of Amestris out of his thoughts. Usually, someone else got it before the line was directed to him. It must have been someone important if his people weren't even going to give him a heads up.<p>

Or maybe they were all still pissed off at him?

"Fuhrer Mustang speaking," he answered curtly only to be greeted by a melodious Drachman voice on the other end.

"Roy, darling, I think I rather like that tone on you," the women positively purred and Roy smiled slightly, getting into character. All other things aside, now was the time to play the part.

"Oh is that so, Madam," he teased his fiancé lightly. "Because I can use it outside of work too."

"Do elaborate, Fuhrer President."

"Over the phone? Why, Your Highness, I didn't know you enjoyed such things."

And so the conversation commenced, a conversation that had been part of his daily routine for the last two months when he had first gotten engaged to Iolanth Lukashenko, of the royal Drachman family.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Please drop me a review to let me know what you think and in return, I promise to update frequently. ;)


	2. The End's End

**Acknowledgement:** Again, loads of thanks goes out to Bookwrm389 for the amazing beta job she did on this chapter. Go check out her page and give her some well deserved love!

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><p><em>You have been my life,<em>

_and I never planned,_

_growing old without you…_

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><p>"Riza, please, please reconsider this-"<p>

"That's quite enough, Colonel Havoc," the sniper snapped. "I've made up my mind, I'm a small town girl at heart and Central just isn't the place for me."

"Yeah, great bullshitting, Hawkeye. Except you forgot that you can't pull one over me, even if you can over that bastard," Havoc snapped right back. Ever since he had heard of the transfer, he had been trying to make one of his closest friends see sense. It didn't help that he wasn't entirely sure why she was pissed as hell – because she clearly was as her ammo record read of late. If he had to guess, he would have bet his entire paycheck on the Fuhrer and his impending nuptial having something to do with this.

"Really Colonel-"

"And don't you Colonel me, dammit! We're off duty and you're right, Central isn't the place for you but neither is East City. The only place for you is where _he_ is and if you think that each and every one of us don't realize that by now, then you're a lot stupider than you look."

"Will that be all, _Jean,_ or would you like me to pay for the coffee as well as take the insults?" Her tone was steely and he didn't blame her. But fuck it all to hell, she couldn't just leave. He couldn't let her, not without knowing that he had tried everything in his power to keep her. She was their queen for heaven's sake; she couldn't just up and leave her subjects.

"Look, I'm sorry Riza, but… have you talked to Mustang at least? Sort it out with him, I'm sure whatever he did-"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with the Fuhrer."

"Again with the bullshitting, Hawkeye? You couldn't do it back in the academy, and you can't do it now. Or did you mean it doesn't have to do with Mustang _specifically_, just his Drachman Princess?"

Somewhere along the line, Havoc's voice had risen without his knowledge, a fact that was now hitting home as heads were turning in their direction and Hawkeye was hissing at him to lower his voice. At that point, he couldn't force himself to care much though. The blonde had been with him under Mustang's unit for at least ten years and they had known each other for four years before that. Colonel Jean Havoc was not about to let an almost fifteen year long friendship slip out just because a few people were staring. Reaching into his wallet, the man pulled out a few notes and placed them under a cup, getting to his feet just as Hawkeye reached for her purse. In two minutes they were out on the streets of downtown Central.

Once out in the open, he tried yet again, opting for a new angle.

"Listen, you know why has to marry that skank, right? It's the only way Drachma and Amestris will ever bury the hatchets . I'm sure if you talked to him, he'll do anything to keep you here."

"On the contrary, Jean, I told him this afternoon and he gave me the legal version of his blessings. It should take me about three weeks to get reassigned now."

"The fuck he did?" Shock was the most evident emotion on the tall soldier's face. How could Mustang… why would he…? "Are you sure he knew what he was signing?" he asked, a last desperate hope in his voice.

"I really hope so, seeing as he was the one who told me to get the paperwork ready."

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><p>The next two weeks passed in a blur for everyone in the Fuhrer's office. What with the wedding preparations in full swing, everyone was six times busier than usual, or so Falman calculated. Everything from catering (a careful blend of Amestrian, Drachman, Aerugean and Xingese delicacies) to seating ("For fuck's sake don't put Edward Elric anywhere near the food, Breda, we don't need to be embarrassed in front of the entire world.") to the dresses and jewelry ("I'm going over to pick up Elycia, God help me, she does <em>not<em> like Her Highness's brat of a niece. This might be the first international wedding where the flower girls might rip each other apart.") to security measures ("Great time to be leaving Hawkeye, now who's gonna keep his ass safe as he pledges undying loyalty to his countr- OW, I mean, to the princess.") had to be taken care of which did not leave them much time to mourn one of their own leaving.

In fact, so busy were they that General Hawkeye's departure was at times completely forgotten as they worked together, late into the night finalizing all the entry and exit routes into Central Memorial Church and Armstrong Manor where the reception would be held. For that brief period, it was as if everything was normal. Falman was muttering numbers and notes under his breath, Fuery was fine tuning his bugs which seemed to cover every surface of the building and furniture where the Fuhrer would be getting married, Breda was handpicking soldiers that would be part of Roy's personal security and Havoc was put in charge of general troubleshooting which could be anything from magically producing a duplicate of the wedding rings that were designed by Drachma's finest jewelers in case they got lost to shooting down a wayward suicide bomber trying to make a point to the world by blowing himself up on the event of the decade.

Sadly, the reminder of Hawkeye's transfer did arrive and only four days before the wedding. There was no time for a formal farewell or even an informal taking out for drinks. In the end, Hawkeye simply cleared her desk one morning and requested her last day off so she could get the rest of her things packed. Her request was granted, and one by one all the men came up to her, tried to say something, failed, and then simply shook her hand and saluted her smartly. Roy watched all this but did not imitate the gesture. He simply looked up from a file, wished her a curt good luck and barked at Fuery to get moving if he was going to bug the Armstrong's guest bedrooms all in one night.

And just like that, General Riza Hawkeye left the office, never to step foot in it again, leaving all her men devastated and heartbroken. Not that she could feel for them right now, because her own heart had shattered into millions of tiny fragments long ago.

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><p>"You know, Riza, I have to be the best girlfriend in the entire world to be trying to get you tickets in a madhouse like this. I mean, did you know that after today, the train service is officially off for the next three days?"<p>

"Thanks Rebecca," the General said yet again, not bothering to mention the fact that it was her own idea that all transportation in and out of the city be halted before the Fuhrer's rehearsal dinner. Fewer variables to worry about at the actual ceremony that way.

"So… I guess this is really it then?" the brunette asked with a last, hopeful tone in her voice, still not handing over the precious tickets she had managed to obtain through a combination of pulling rank and shameless flirting.

"Afraid so," Hawkeye confirmed, trying not to look her in the eye. "Thanks for everything you've done for us over the years, Rebecca."

It didn't escape the young woman that her best friend had said "us", meaning both Mustang and her. For as long as Rebecca could remember, Hawkeye had functioned as an extension of the current Fuhrer, so it was logical that Hawkeye's mindset wouldn't be altered in a few weeks. The habit of a lifetime doesn't die easily, as Rebecca very well knew.

"Riza… I know you're leaving, and I think I know why, but that doesn't mean we won't be friends anymore right?" she finally worded the question that had been on her mind for awhile now. Maybe she was paranoid, and it wouldn't be her first time, but whenever she spoke to her friend these days, there was always a note of finality. As though the blonde was simply planning on disappearing from everyone's lives. "Because I want to hear from you no matter where you are, you do realize that right?"

"I'm not really sure how busy I'll be over in East City…" Hawkeye trailed off, leaving no doubt in the Colonel's mind. Riza wasn't going to call her or write to her, or any of her friends at Central.

"Screw you, Hawkeye, you can go all the way to hell and I'll still track you down and write to you there!" the soldier muttered angrily, trying to keep her tears in check. It had been niggling at the back of her mind for ages now that her friend intended to just vanish out of existence. But to have Hawkeye pretty much confirm it was the last straw.

The General didn't respond, simply put out her hand for the tickets, which Rebecca was forced to relinquish. Tucking them carefully into her purse, Hawkeye vacated her seat with Rebecca doing the same. Without as much as another word, the blonde closed the small distance between the two women and opened her arms to hug her friend, a hug which Rebecca sank into, finally letting the tears run down her check. Great, she wasn't even embarrassed at crying anymore. And she couldn't be positive but she was almost sure that not all the tears at that moment were her own.

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><p>Whoever said the rehearsal dinner was an unimportant event that simply demanded observance due to the fact that it led up to the main event was a goddamn liar if the flurry around Central HQ was anything to judge by. Security had been tripled and every press rep from <em>Central Times<em> to the _Aerugean Constellation_ seemed to have their camera ready to snap anything that looked less then 110% perfect. As Havoc very aptly summed it, it was a fucking security nightmare.

At least Iolanth was being gracious about it, Roy reflected as a tailor almost strangled him with his own tie fashioned from the finest Xingese material money could buy. But then again, being a part of the Royal family, this must be pretty normal for her.

"The King is currently immobile, Bishop out," Falman muttered in his headset, clearly reporting to Breda. A moment later, the Warrant Officer was once again talking to someone. "Negative, Knight, the Queen stays stationary, tell her guards to cool their heels outside her nest for a while. And if they're having trouble keeping still, have them contact secondary security and help direct traffic around the intersection, Armstrong says it's a madhouse out there."

The Queen…

Unbidden, an image of a blonde child popped into Roy's head, a girl in a white dress wearing a ring of flowers in her hair, flowers he himself had painstakingly picked and transmuted for her earlier that day.

_How do I look, Roy?_

_Like a queen! _

"Well, how does he look?" The tailor's question to his colleague jolted the alchemist from the memory. His gaze landed on his own reflection in the mirror, looking pristine and impeccable with his hair slicked back and all his medals glistening from his dress uniform. Even the light purple Drachman ceremonial sash looked becoming on him.

"He looks beautiful," the colleague replied, clearly not as reserved as normal males. The man looked on the verge of tears, leaving most soldiers assembled to roll their eyes at the second tailor's clear display of theatrics. "A beautiful Fuhrer about to marry a beautiful Princess…"

Roy looked uncomfortably at the emotional old man before shifting away, giving his men the signal to move out.

"Rook, this is the Bishop, the King apparently looks _beautiful_ and is on his way to the nest, get Her Highness ready, ETA in about seven minutes."

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><p>Unbeknownst to them, both Fuhrer President Roy Mustang and General Riza Hawkeye took their first steps on a huge journey. For just as Roy entered the church for the ceremonial dinner where his future bride and her entourage from Drachma awaited, many miles away, the blonde he had given his heart to since before he could perform alchemy was boarding a train out of Central. They didn't know it, but at the exact same moment the two people who had planned to always stay by each other's side come hell or high water, were taking mutual steps away from each other's lives.<p>

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> I know, I know! Bring on the hate mail. XP


	3. The Awakening

**Acknowledgment:** Once again, major, _major_ kudos go out to Bookwrm389 for beta-ing this chapter despite being ridiculously busy with other stuff. Isn't she fantastic?

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><p><em>Shadows bleeding through the light,<em>

_where the love once shined so bright._

_Came without a reason…_

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><p><span>Five Years Later<span>

Time passed, as it always did, overcoming all obstacles and flowing forward no matter how badly one wanted to hold on to a single moment in its stream. No matter how many times one played a single second over and over again in their minds, in their dreams, wishing to have spent that second differently, wishing to have said something differently, to not have said anything, to have had the courage to say what one really felt.

At first glance, nothing seemed to have changed in Fuhrer Mustang's office. Captain Fuery still occupied his station, tinkering with one gadget or another, the newly promoted Lieutenant General Havoc still sat in the same desk, gazing out at the sunny grounds. Beside him, General Breda still ate his usual amount of donuts every morning and the Warrant Officer still manned his corner of the room quietly.

However, to anyone who had known the occupants of the office _before_, nothing was the same. That was how they referred to Hawkeye's time with them. _Before._ No one mentioned her by name, no one ever brought up anything she used to do or her quirks and mannerisms. No one needed to because they all remembered perfectly. And because she was still frozen in their memory, the term _before _had been formed and accepted without any discussion – just like the changes in each of them.

For one thing, there hadn't been a day since the Fuhrer's honeymoon when he hadn't arrived at the office at least a half hour before required by protocol. For another, Kain Fuery no longer took any interest in stray animals, preferring to make friends with and care for his machines more than soaking strays. He had even once bitterly said, "At least machines don't leave your side."

No one knew when exactly Havoc stopped trying to be the bookie for the military. They just realized one day that it had been weeks without the blond mentioning the words "betting pool" or "put your cenz where your mouth is", and when asked, the Lieutenant General only said that childish games were there to be outgrown. And Breda, aside from never ever touching a pineapple jam donut with rainbow sprinkles no matter how many other types he ate, had given up on chess, his excuse being, "I don't have enough pieces to play with."

But perhaps the most prominent change had come over Vato Falman. Always a quiet, intelligent man from the start, he had previously done his duty without any questions and to the best of his ability. But somehow, over the past years, his silent, unquestioning obedience had turned into bitter sarcasm. His normal, unassuming air had given way to a harsh sense of humor and uncalled for remarks that almost bordered on insubordination.

All this couldn't possibly be because of… _before_, Roy thought. How could one person's absence change so many people this much? After all, it should have affected _him_ the most, and if he was perfectly fine with it, what right did anyone else have to be upset or bitter or to give him attitude?

So for the first three years, Roy Mustang, The Fuhrer of Amestris, lied to himself, repeating over and over in his head that it was just a normal change, that people changed. And some nights, when he was drunk enough, he would almost believe his unspoken convictions.

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><p>"Liz! Liz! He's going to kill me, help!"<p>

"What is it this time, Lieutenant Dunne?" the blonde looked up from her papers, narrowing her eyes in annoyance behind thin, square shaped glasses.

"I was supposed to file in a few reports and leave request forms for Colonel McPherson last week, and I… " the red headed HR representative trailed off.

"You forgot." It was more a statement of fact than a question.

"Come on, Liz, Andy was home last week, and we took the kids to the beach. You know how nice the sea is in Dublith this time of year, and hardly any tourists too. Andy and the boys ganged up on me and said they wanted to camp overnight, what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have tried telling them you have a job," the blonde suggested dryly. "Although if you keep this up, I don't think _that_ excuse will be valid anymore."

"Alright, alright, point taken. Next time I put my foot down when my husband comes over after months of being stationed in bloody Briggs and my boys want to spend some time with him," the Lieutenant conceded sourly. "But what am I going to do now? I don't have those reports ready, and I can't even find those forms. McPherson is going to kill me,_ then _court martial me! Come on, Liz, do something, I have two boys who need to go to college in a few years."

"Patrick and Darren are nine, Ruby."

"Do you have any idea how expensive college is? And Andy has his heart set on some fancy university in Central!"

The blonde simply rolled her eyes at her coworker's theatrics, this not being the first time she was forced to witness them. "If I tell you that I handed in those reports to the Colonel and got the forms all signed, would you stop it with the drama?"

"Oh Lizzie, I swear, you're an angel!" Lieutenant Dunne squealed as she ran to hug the stern-looking woman she shared her office with, either not noticing or caring that the blonde was uncomfortable with having her personal space breached.

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><p>"Sir, Edward Elric is here to see you."<p>

"Send him in."

Roy Mustang would never have admitted it to anyone – not even under severe torture – but something inside him had lightened when a phone call had been forwarded to him and a voice informed him in a rather short and rude tone that they would be in Central in a week and needed to see him for some urgent business. At least some things in life never changed, Roy had thought with bitter amusement, picturing the blond alchemist who was about to pay him a visit after nearly four years of traveling abroad.

He had fully expected a greeting along the lines of "What's up, bastard?", so it came as a bit of a surprise when the former Fullmetal Alchemist walked into one of the private meeting rooms, perfectly respectful, and bowed in greeting before uttering an even politer, "Hello, Sir".

"What's wrong, Fullmetal, short on words today?"

Edward didn't react to the jibe. "No Sir, but you seemed to be short on something."

Deciding that this was one line of discussion he did not want to get tangled in, Roy swiftly steered the topic back to business. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came here because I… we… that is, Winry and I, we're going to get married." A slight pink tint made itself known on Edward's cheeks and Roy found himself smiling for the first time in… a long time.

"In that case, congratulations are certainly in order, and I suggest you do the deed quickly before Miss Rockbell realizes she can do a lot better," the Fuhrer attempted once more, but again, his efforts were in vain.

"With all due respect, Sir, _I_ would never let the woman I _love_ go," the young man said plainly, for the first time looking dead straight into the Fuhrer's eyes.

"Has you head shrunk in all the years, Fullmetal? Because you're spouting nonsense! I could have you arrested right now for disrespect to Amestris."

"Go ahead, _Your Excellency_. It would be perfectly understandable for you to want to ruin everyone else's life too after you did such a thorough job of ruining your own."

…_Your Excellency…_

…_Not even the Fuhrer can impose his will on someone…_

…_I would never let the woman I love go…_

…_promises have been nullified over the years… _

…_thorough job of ruining…_

…_Even into hell…_

…_don't have enough pieces… _

…_How do I look, Roy…_

…_Your Excellency… _

The next thing he knew, the cold and hard marble of the floor was against his back, and ominous black clouds were eating away at his vision. His last thought before losing consciousness was that there wasn't been anyone to protect it this time.

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><p>"Havoc, where is she?" the question startled the Lieutenant General so much, he dropped the lighter he was about to use on his latest cigarette.<p>

"Pardon?"

"Don't play dumb, Havoc, you were never good at it. Now where is she?"

"With all due respect, Sir, even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you." The blond shrugged, bending to pick up the fallen lighter.

Havoc expected more curt orders, threats, even severe ramifications for withholding information from the leader of the fucking country. What he wasn't expecting was what Mustang did next. The raven-haired alchemist simply hung his head, looking at nothing in particular as he mumbled, "It would be no more than I deserve, Jean."

Seeing Mustang defeated like this, for the first time _consciously_ admitting that he had done wrong, twisted something in Havoc's gut. For while the Fuhrer was a brilliant actor, it was Havoc whose job it had become in Hawkeye's absence to escort the man safely home after he'd slipped the guards and had one too many a shot of vodka. Sometimes, Havoc wondered if Mustang even remembered what he mumbled in a drunken daze but always concluded that it didn't matter. _He_ certainly wasn't going to remind the alchemist that after becoming wholly inebriated the Fuhrer seemed to talk as if he was dead, a ghost who searched this world for "his queen", all the while saying he didn't deserve to find her and be at peace. Once the First Lady had been unfortunate enough to have witnessed her husband's performance as Havoc all but dragged him back to the Presidential Manor, only for Mustang to point at his wife and shout "No, you're not _her_, YOU'RE JUST _A FAKE!"_ before passing out on the nearest couch. Havoc and Her Ladyship had wordlessly agreed to pretend such an event had never come to pass.

"I really don't know, Sir. She wrote sparsely from East City and transferred a year later to some backwater place near South City, and to Youswell after that. I only received one letter from her while she was there, and when I contacted the office there, they said she had transferred, but they couldn't seem to locate her file. As I understand it, administration in Youswell is not the best…"

Mustang's next words left Havoc feeling hollow and empty. "Does anyone at least know if she's doing alright?"

If ever there was a question Lieutenant General Jean Havoc of the Amestrian Military had wanted to answer in a confident affirmative, it was this one. But he could not. He couldn't even give a vague, false reassurance to the man he had been watching fall apart at the seams for the last five years.

But he could do the next best thing.

"We'll locate her and find out for ourselves, Sir!" the soldier saluted smartly, a new gleam in his eyes.

* * *

><p>Hundreds of miles away, a black and white Shiba Inu barked excitedly, jolting his mistress awake. Reaching for her square cut glasses more out of habit than actual necessity, Elizabeth Grumman gazed around her simple studio apartment.<p>

"What is it, Black Hayate? Is someone coming?"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> What do you say, have I redeemed myself at least a little? ;)


	4. The Hope

**Acknowledgement:** Okay, so this is the part where I usually go down on my knees and thank Bookwrm389 for being the amazingness that she is and beta-ing this story. But today, another someone needs to be thanked and that is bay115. Because if you go into my profile and check the links of artworks under "Fullmetal Alchemist", you will find a stunning banner for this story which is all bay115's doing. Isn't she simply brilliant?

* * *

><p><em>Don't let go on us tonight,<em>

_love's not always black and white._

_Haven't I always loved you..?_

* * *

><p>When Roy Mustang wanted something done, it usually happened, as legend held. In fact, more than a few of his subordinates maintained to this day that he had only obtained the Fuhrer's seat on his iron will alone. Of course, there was all the political scheming that went with it, and the role Riza Hawkeye had played in pushing him to the top was also not forgotten, but the fact remained. When all was said and done, the Flame Alchemist got what he wanted.<p>

The funny thing was, Roy didn't believe that himself. He had always assumed it was _Hawkeye's_ iron will that pushed him forward. He remembered the dark days after Hughes' funeral when the only ideas that seem to sit with him involved a bottle of scotch and a gun on his nightstand, one he would contemplate using every night only to realize how much of a coward he was, unlike Maes.

It was during those days when Hawkeye had risen above and beyond the call of duty, not just as his aide but also his friend. It had been she who lined up all his bottles on the counter, taken the gun from his nightstand and expertly shot each and every one, leaving his kitchen flooded with rivers of white, red and amber. It had been she who demanded he strip down to his underclothes so she could iron his dress shirts, jackets and trousers and attacked his closet like a woman on the warpath, straightening, folding, throwing in the laundry and generally making some sort of order out of it. She had shoved some clean civilian clothes at him and taken him grocery shopping with her, had made him help put the groceries away in the fridge and cooked lasagna for dinner and left plenty in the freezer to defrost in case he got hungry later.

She had made him dinner for two weeks in a row, waiting for him to either become so ashamed that he did it himself next time or just get sick of her cooking and order take out. She had said as much, making Roy crack a half smile for the first time since the news of his best friend's murder.

Roy often felt like it was Hawkeye who had played the bigger hand in reaching their goal. So perhaps all the legends about Roy Mustang were true, but not for the reasons that everyone thought. Perhaps he only got what he wanted because _Hawkeye_ made damn sure that he did.

But what the alchemist wanted now was not something his former aide could help him with. He wanted her current location. And as his men uncovered more and more dead ends day after day, he was starting to doubt that he ever would.

"You were right, Maes, I'm rubbish without you," the Fuhrer whispered quietly to his empty office, no doubt in his mind that if his friend could somehow communicate with the living, he would kick Roy's ass for screwing up so badly.

* * *

><p>"Vato, I know you know something, what I don't get is <em>why<em> you're not telling us," Havoc tried yet again.

"My apologies Lieutenant General, I'll try not to be that obvious next time I'm trying to withhold information." The grey haired Warrant Officer didn't even bother looking up from the reports he was filing.

"You know Warrant Officer Falman, I don't like your tone," the blond tried again. Lately, there was just no use trying to be nice to Falman. Maybe a threat would yield better results?

"Feel free to report me, Sir. I have a complaint form you can fill out."

Alright, so threatening wasn't going to work, maybe if he tried to remind him about… _before_?

"Vato, do you really think this is some game of who can hold out the longest. You see him every day, you _know_ how much he _needs_ her. He's wasting away, and he's trying to find her. If he doesn't-"

"Lieutenant General, have you noticed that you only show concern for His Excellency? And patriotic as that may be, _I_ at least prefer to look out for my friends before my country. Now there's something you can write in your report." Falman's steely tones shocked Havoc.

"How dare you suggest I don't care about her? May I remind you that I knew her longer than you?" Havoc defended himself quickly, already starting to see red.

"And yet you failed to see it coming?"

"See what coming?"

Falman simply dropped his gaze back to his desk and reached for another stack of papers. "I think we're done here, Sir."

"The hell we are. Now stop being such a coward and spit it out. Remember, _you_ started it so say whatever it is that's been inside you since she left, and maybe you'll stop being such a son of a bitch."

For a moment, it seemed the older man was going to completely ignore Havoc's challenge. But then he looked up from his papers, took off his wire rimmed spectacles, polished them against his shirtsleeves and put them back on, a habit he had adopted before going into an outright confrontation.

"You claim to know her, Lieutenant General. Then why, pray tell, did you not see how much she was suffering for months before she took the final steps? If memory serves, you knew her from when you were both in the academy right? So you should have seen how unhappy she was, how much time she was spending at the range, how some nights, she wouldn't even go back home and instead end up in Colonel Catalina's barracks? But you didn't. You took her silence for her usual quiet demeanor, you took her stoicism for excellent work ethics," Falman halted for breath before continuing his monologue.

"But why would you notice? Why would _anyone_ notice? She was simply the right hand, a soldier. No one ever thought of her as a person with feelings and insecurities and the need to be appreciated. And she was fine with that. I could see her making her peace with the Fuhrer's decision every day, and one day, she just couldn't. You all say you didn't see it coming, but with all due respect _Sir_, you're all liars and hypocrites because _I_ saw it and all of _you _simply turned a blind eye.

"So no one, least of all His Excellency, has the right to demand her current whereabouts from me or anyone. Because what will you do? Undo the past five years?" the man finished bitterly, leaving Havoc open-mouthed in the wake of his tirade.

"You're right, Falman, I can't undo the last five years," said a quiet voice from the doorway. Both men looked up in surprise at the Fuhrer, who had slipped into the office without being noticed. "But I can apologize for them. To her, to you, to every one of you."

"Sir, you're not going to get away with this that easily."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Warrant Officer. I realize the gravity of my mistake, but in order to at least start making it right, I need to see her… to at least tell her what an ass I've been."

"Yeah chief, I agree with that," Havoc offered dryly. No one smiled.

"Falman, I need a name, a location, anything you have and in return, you have my word that I'd sooner die than hurt her ever again."

The offer stretched into minutes that felt like eternity to all three men in the office before Falman finally relinquished the information he had been holding for almost two years now.

"You're looking for a woman named Elizabeth Grumman. She applied for a name change while stationed in Youswell and conveniently had her previous file destroyed."

* * *

><p>Of course, disappearing completely off the radar could never be done. Once an individual joined the Amestrian Force, they were subject to being tracked by said force 247. And if said someone was of a high rank such as a General, it was even more of an impossibility. Put that together with the fact that this particular General was not only one of the finest sharpshooters in the military but also the Fuhrer's direct aide, it had taken Hawkeye quite some time and careful planning to not disappear, per se , but to hide among all the gray spots that showed up on the radar.

After a few months at East City, the sniper had been asked to participate in the annual soldier evaluation where she had intentionally botched four shots out of ten, just enough to earn a visit to the ophthalmologist where she had carefully told half truths and voiced her fears about her vision deteriorating. The doctor, a kindly old man, had tried to reassure her that no one would know the difference if she got lenses. Hawkeye had smiled, not because of the doctor's kindness but because of the discreet note he had jotted down on her file. Word would spread, she knew. The month after, she applied for a transfer again.

Her next stop, a backwater town in the south, only boasted one surgery manned by two GPs and a long suffering intern who catered to both civilian and military. She had been careful to go in on a day when the intern was particularly busy and both the doctors were in surgery. Half an hour and an extremely questionable eye test later, she held in her hands a prescription for glasses. From then on, it was simply waiting for her new accessory to arrive as well as the conformation for her application for a desk job due to her legitimate handicap. And in true Amestrian fashion, previously being the Hawk's Eye gave her quiet a handsome settlement but a boring as hell job in the mining town of Youswell.

Once there, she applied for a name change (her reason being, I want to honor my grandfather's memory) and asked for yet another transfer the next year. And so, several relocations later, Riza Hawkeye had almost disappeared from the map.

In her place now sat Elizabeth R. Grumman, Retired General of the Amestrian Armed Forces, aged 38, currently working as a Human Resource Representative in military base in downtown Dublith.

* * *

><p>"Liz! Liz! He's going to kill me. I really mean it this time! Oh God, what am I going to do?"<p>

With a mixture of annoyance and amusement on her face, the blonde set her coffee mug down, waiting to hear what her colleague had done this time.

"It's not funny, Liz! I have two kids who will not have a mother after today if these memos don't reach Intel by lunch. Please, please give me a hand. You don't want my boys to grow up without a mother do you?" Lieutenant Dunne asked as she tried to sweep a large pile of papers from her desk, only succeeding in knocking half of them to the floor.

"Alright fine," the other woman conceded and straightened her glasses before getting to her feet and giving Lieutenant Dunne a hand. This was her life now, and she liked it. No surprises, no changes, complete stability and minimal opportunity for unforeseen events.

Little did she know that as she was hurrying towards Intel, her arms full of memos, the Fuhrer President was on a top priority speed train headed straight for Dublith.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Reviews make me very happy, and update faster. XD


	5. Almost Here

**Acknowledgement:** Once again, I would be totally at sea if it wasn't for my beta, Bookwrm389, constantly helping me out by dissecting the plot of this story to within an inch of it's digital existence. Also, I'd like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to 1) chibijac who made a trailer for my 100 Royai themes _And So It Came To Pass_ (check it out on my profile) using the perfect song to represent the pairing and 2) maryh10000 whom I would like to assure that yes, I indeed _do_ want to know that much about the US military rank system and that she is a complete star for telling me so.

* * *

><p><em>But when I need you,<em>

_you're almost here._

_And I know that's not enough..._

* * *

><p>Iolanth Mustang crossed her legs on the comfortable couch in her lavish living room, trying to pay attention to an article on ancient Amestrian cuisines and their contribution to the nation's current obesity levels. The article in question wasn't very long but she had been looking at it for the last forty minutes and hadn't managed to comprehend anything after the second paragraph.<p>

Just as the blonde was about to give up reading, a pretty redhead entered the room, a small and discreet musical bell announcing her presence. Iolanth looked up with a grateful smile at her personal assistant.

"Hello Sciezka. Please tell me those files have better reading material? Some Xingese celebrity gossip or the new research on altitudinal alchemy being conducted up in Briggs?" she asked hopefully.

"My apologies, Your Ladyship, but I can get them for you in roughly fifteen minutes," the woman replied, clearly flustered at Iolanth's request.

"Never mind, why don't you take a seat? I was getting bored anyway," the former princess tried again. Sciezka had been her assistant for almost a year now and still hadn't caught on to how the Fuhrer's wife liked things run, but Iolanth was willing to give her more time.

"Uh- of course My Lady, though I just came to inform you that His Excellency, the Fuhrer has left for Dublith. His immediate security includes Lieutenant General Havoc as well as General Breda. Captain Fuery said that, due to the urgent nature of his leave, he couldn't take more than a few soldiers with him." All this was reported in a nervous manner as though Sciezka expected her to start yelling at any second.

However, Iolanth simply took the news in stride, still gesturing to the seat opposite her to let Sciezka know that her offer to sit down was still available.

"And is there any mention of when he'll be back?"

"Negative, Lady Fuhrer," the assistant replied, finally sitting down.

The blonde uncrossed her legs, tucking them neatly under her as she watched the the assistant sitting across from her. She took in her somewhat startled eyes and nervous fidgeting as well as the fact that Sciezka was looking anywhere but at her directly.

Growing up, Iolanth Lukashenko had been categorized in the usual stereotypes. Blonde, beautiful and royal, after all, must equate to dumb as a post with the personality of a bitch to match. However, those who made the mistake of thinking the princess unaware of her surroundings did so only once, and that too usually before they had spoken to her in person. For not only did the Drachman beauty hold five different doctorates under her belt, including those in psychology, political science and biochemistry, she was also extremely well versed in people – namely, their actions, reactions and ticks. As a teenager, Iolanthe had spent endless hours simply sitting and observing the people around her as they went about their daily work. She had been the first to discover that the royal chef was having an affair with one of her cousins, the first to find out that her sister-in-law was pregnant only a month after her wedding, and she had been the only one to notice that her aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess' divorce had been a long time coming.

But perhaps her most intriguing quality was the fact that she never used her knowledge for gain. Because while the princess realized the importance of information, she also knew when to keep her mouth shut. In the end, her cousin had gotten bored of the illicit affair, her sister-in-law had confessed to her husband of her own violations, and well, the Duke and Duchess were not as embarrassed as they would have been if a fourteen-year-old had pointed out that the divorce was late by about five years.

It was the same quality she liked about her husband, the Fuhrer. Something she had seen proof of on her wedding night. If Roy had noticed that night that she wasn't a virgin, he had not cared to address the issue. And despite the fact that Drachma was in many ways backwards compared to Amestris and girls were only supposed to ever lose their innocence after marriage, he had never brought it up. A favor she had been quietly thankful for.

She, in turn, ignored all of his eccentricities, believing that if the Fuhrer didn't make the best husband, he at least made a somewhat good companion and even friend. Iolanth was too smart to pretend their wedding had been anything but a political merger, but as far as pretend husbands went, Roy Mustang wasn't half bad.

And now, he was gone to Dublith with minimal security and without even having the courtesy to call her personally. Gone after spending months muttering in his sleep, "_I'm coming, wait for me…_"

Deciding on her next move carefully, the First Lady of Amestris narrowed her jade-green eyes at Sciezka thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Sciezka, do you know of anyone named 'Riza'?"

The panicked look in her assistant's eyes told Iolanth she had hit the bull's eye.

* * *

><p>Colonel McPherson entered the room, making Lieutenant Ruby Dunne jump while in the process of refilling her mug with hot water. Unfortunately, this caused the woman to spill some of the boiling liquid on her jacket, leaving a dark stain on her blue uniform.<p>

Colonel McPherson glared.

"Lieutenant Dunne, would you please just take a stab at competency once in a while?" the prematurely balding man growled at the scared HR representative.

"S-s-sorry sir, I'll clean that up."

Elizabeth Grumman looked up from her desk, narrowing her eyes behind square cut glasses. While it was true that her colleague didn't always give her level best on the job, the Colonel was not the easiest person to work for either. And often times, the blonde found herself unintentionally sticking up for Ruby to her superior, who was really sometimes just a schoolyard bully.

"Is there something you needed, Sir?" she asked carefully as Lieutenant Dunne exited the room, most likely on her way to the ladies' room for some paper towels.

'Ah yes, of course. Well, I was supposed to speak to you both, but I think, Elizabeth, you can be trusted to pass the message along. You see, our base is going to be playing host to a very important guest in about five hours. Everyone from the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and above has been ordered to go change into dress uniform and get the base ready for an emergency inspection."

"I see," the woman replied, recognizing the protocol. "May I know who's coming from Central," she asked in neutral tones, just in case it was a General she had known previously.

"That's the thing Elizabeth. It's not a General who's conducting the surprise inspection. If the girls down in Intel are to be trusted, The _Fuhrer_ himself is on the way," McPherson stated, the surprise still evident in his tone.

"What? The Fuhrer is coming here?" a loud voice screeched from the door, drawing both the occupants of the room's attention to the fact that Lieutenant Dunne had returned – with several wet paper towels in her arms.

Colonel McPherson gritted his teeth at the sight. "He is indeed, soldier. Not that he would bother stepping into this office or talking to unimportant people like you, but if you do anything to embarrass yourself or this base, I will personally see to your court martial! Is that understood?"

The redhead nodded mutely, fear evident in her eyes. The Colonel looked around the small office once, barked a few more orders on propriety and left the room, still muttering under his breath.

Ruby was all but having a heart attack at the news, trying to clean up her desk, then her hair, then her desk again. In fact, so preoccupied was she that she didn't notice her colleague turn pale and sink into her chair, looking at nothing with haunted eyes.

* * *

><p>After what felt like eternity, Roy Mustang stepped off the train, Havoc and Breda close behind him. Taking a deep breath of the fresh Dublith air, the Flame Alchemist looked around the station as though the greenery, the roads and the people would bear signs that he would find what he was looking for here, after months and months of searching.<p>

"Sir, the welcoming committee is waiting at the platform, let's get going," Havoc said shortly. Roy didn't mind. Long train rides always made Jean cranky. He remembered when he was a mere Colonel and stationed in the East. It was always Hawkeye who had to sit with Havoc on long journeys, discussing the latest weaponry or field tactics to keep the chain smoker's mind off the fact that his lanky frame would be confined in an ill-fitting seat for hours on end.

Hawkeye. They would soon find her and everything would be alright again. Not that Roy was entirely sure what he was going to say or do when he met her. All he was sure of was that once he saw her again, things would right themselves, just like they always did when she was near.

* * *

><p>Not for the first time that day, a completely flustered and bewildered Colonel McPherson entered the small office shared by Ruby Dunne and Elizabeth Grumman. Thus far, the evening had been full of surprises, starting with the Fuhrer's highly irregular arrival, the fact that there was no inspection (which the Fuhrer explained to the General in charge of the Dublith base), followed by the request for a private meeting with Colonel McPherson <em>himself<em>. The Fuhrer had actually _asked_ for McPherson _by name_ and, as if that hadn't been astonishing enough, His Excellency had praised the Colonel for his good work and inquired about the other departments that fell under his jurisdiction.

Finally, the Fuhrer had made the oddest request of all – an appointment with one of the HR reps, a lady by the name of Grumman.

"Elizabeth… I know this may come as a bit of a shock… but I believe His Excellency wishes to speak to you…" the man trailed off, not quiet believing his own words. However, the day's surprises were far from over.

"Well, would you kindly inform him that _I_ do not wish to speak to _him_?" the blonde replied coolly.

McPherson was just about to open his mouth to yell at her for extreme insubordination when a quiet voice stated from the doorway. "I had a feeling you would say that."

McPherson's jaw dropped, for there stood the Fuhrer of Amestris, addressing one of his underlings with an oddly reverent look in his eyes. And even stranger was that, while Elizabeth herself made no reply, her pet dog – usually so calm and quiet – leapt from his post under the window and headed straight for His Excellency, knocking the Fuhrer to the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> To all you folks who favourtize this story without leaving a review, do you guys feel a bit like Selim/Pride, watching from the shadows? XD

As usual, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter.


	6. Before

**Acknowledgement:** As I'm sure you are all aware by now, my beta, Bookwrm389, rocks!

* * *

><p><em>And when I'm with you,<em>

_I'm close to tears._

'_Cuz you're only almost here…_

* * *

><p><em>Before <em>

The cheer that went up as he was finally declared Fuhrer in front of the hundred thousand Amestrains gathered at Central High Court was so thunderous Hawkeye was sure she would lose her eardrums very soon. She was just as sure at that moment that she wouldn't give a damn even if she did.

The ceremony itself was elaborate and drawn out, what with the speeches and oaths to protect Amestris and the duties of a soldier. An address from the parliament, one from Mrs. Bradley, the former First Lady of the country, and then another from Retired Fuhrer Grumman. All in all, it wasn't exactly captivating unless one listened closely to the difference between everything being said and everything they truly meant. But for once, Hawkeye didn't care about the double meanings and details. Because after years and years of striving for just this, it wasn't merely in reach, it was caught. Mustang was finally Fuhrer.

A wicked thought flashed into her mind as she watched the alchemist smile charmingly and bow to his adoring public, the picture of perfect decorum. She entertained herself for exactly thirty seconds with it. How would he react if she simply stepped out from her position (four feet behind him along with the rest of his guard) and pecked him on the cheek to congratulate him? Surely his face, not to mention that of the dried up geezers in parliament, would be a sight to see and publish on the front page of the _Times._

Of course, the newly promoted General did nothing of the sort. It would be highly inappropriate. But the mere fact that she had entertained such a notion – even briefly – was proof of how giddy and lightheaded she felt at that exact moment as she witnessed him basking in the glory of all they had worked for.

Perhaps it was her imagination. After all, he _was_ smiling in all directions. But she could have sworn that at one point he caught her eye and sent a crooked grin her away, like one would give a fellow conspirator.

For the first time in so many years, Hawkeye smiled openly, her teeth showing and her eyes sparkling.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Getting used to all the extra work, attention and diplomacy was hard, to say the least. But Roy Mustang counted himself lucky to have the best subordinates in the entire force. The fact that, with his new and elevated status, they had had to make sacrifices too had not been lost on him, and he tried to reward them whichever way he could, be it through bonuses, promotion or an excellent healthcare package. Though truth be told, he could never repay them for what they had done for him, and he never felt the need to say that out loud because they all knew it perfectly well. Which was why they showed up to work just like they had done for the past ten years, their usual cheerful, sarcastic, efficient or stoic professionalism in place.

Roy had never had what one would call a normal family, but the people now surrounding him as he claimed his rightful throne meant more to him than any biological relatives ever would. Fuery could easily be the kid brother he never had, and Havoc the cousin he always pretended to squabble with but got along with best. Breda, the black sheep who always kept Roy from making silly mistakes, and Falman, the father who had never walked out when Roy was three, leaving him in the care of a bar hostess.

And Hawkeye… no, there was no role to describe what Hawkeye meant to him. So he didn't bother. To put words to what they had would not only be impossible but also an insult to the very essence of their relationship. For how does one go about describing the bond between souls? And Roy Mustang doesn't believe in souls, or spirituality for that matter.

It always came as a relief then, when Hawkeye smiled at him from behind a folder or at the end of a particularly taxing day, that she understood exactly what he could not find the words to say.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Iolanth Lukashenko was perhaps the first princess in Drachman history who would actually get her happy ending. Her upbringing in the palace had been traditional to a fault, starting with her betrothal to her second cousin, Daniel, at the age of one, and etiquette lessons from the age of two.

But despite all these, Iolanth counted herself blessed by the Gods that Daniel was not _just_ someone she had to marry. He was the prince who had played hopscotch with her behind the palace stables when they were five, who had spied on people with her from under the huge four posters in the guest bedrooms where chamber maids came and went. The one who had taken her virginity with gentle and loving movements when she was sixteen and read romantic poetry to her from beneath her window under the star strewn sky in an attempt to recreate her favorite Drachman play at the age of twenty. Yes, if there was such a thing as real love, she felt it every time she saw his dark brown curls kiss his forehead and tease his light brown lashes. And he felt it too. It was clear in the way his dark eyes sparkled whenever he saw her approaching from a distance and the way he held her after they made love.

After turning twenty-five, their marriage was inevitable, and her cousins as well as some of the bolder royal maids started teasing her about being the future Mrs. Daniel. A date was set by her parents and his. It would be released to the public perhaps in a year or two as now was not a good time to host a wedding. Drachmans were, of course, courteous above all else and they would never steal the thunder from their neighboring Amestrians who had just elected a new Fuhrer.

For those few months, Iolanth was the happiest she had ever been.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Hawkeye really wanted to go to Drachma with him. In fact, if she really wanted to, she could make an excellent case for herself. She knew Mustang wouldn't deny her that.

But facts were facts. He had been Fuhrer for barely a year and there were still enough people around who had a particular fondness for seeing him disgraced that he had to leave his best General behind to oversee business in Amestris while he was away. And she was his absolute best.

Breda would be going with him, which took care of security, and so would Fuery so communicating with him at all times via safe frequency would not prove troublesome either. So why was Hawkeye's gut - or "soldier sense" as she had labeled it in Ishval - telling her this was a bad idea? It was a perfectly routine diplomatic visit, and Amestris and Drachma had been relatively peaceful lately. No doubt the northern nation was grudgingly impressed by the work the Fuhrer was doing to restore Ishval to its former glory and reintegrating Ishvalan refugees into everyday society. Drachma may not like them much, but they weren't going to start a war with the best looking country on the map just as it was starting to bask in the limelight.

No, this wish to accompany the Fuhrer was probably born of some sentimental wish to be near him, and Hawkeye refused to let that interfere with her professionalism. Knowing that she would do him more good by staying here than going with him, the General scoffed at the small voice inside her that repeatedly told her she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

After all, she had had plenty of experience when it came to suppressing her personal wishes.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Yes, he had done a lot for Amestris and it showed in the way the Drachmans greeted him at the military shipyard. Wisely, they had chosen not to make his welcome to their country public, winning over Breda and his security-obsessed mind at once. No civilians meant a much easier time for the personal guards.

However, things were still not going as well as Roy would have liked them to. While the officials treated him quite civilly, he couldn't help but wonder if they would stand by Amestris once Roy unveiled his plans for democracy. Or would Drachma simply take advantage of the momentary confusion to deal a lethal blow?

Drachma and Amestris had been united once, before centuries of dispute and warfare had taken its toll. Now that they were separate, they viewed each other more as rival siblings always looking to get one over each other. And Roy knew that if there was a way to settle this, it would have to be off the battlefield since Amestris couldn't afford an outright war so soon.

A solution came to him in the form of one of the few privileged enough to attend the welcoming ceremony - a fairly young and definitely eye-catching woman with luscious gold locks and glittering green eyes who introduced herself as Iolanth Salonge Tatiana Lukashenko. Though not in line for the throne, she was a legitimate princess nonetheless. She would do perfectly.

Of course, if there was any woman he had ever pictured claiming as his in front of the whole world, it was the little girl he had defended against bullies and gotten a severe beating for at the age of seven. But that, Roy reasoned sadly, was one more dream that they would both have to watch die for the greater good.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," he said, bowing swiftly and brushing his lips to the back of the princess's hand. The soft pink blush on her cheeks looked quite becoming, he noted mechanically.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Iolanth figured it out even before they had the decency to inform her. And Daniel knew it too. Why else would he start distancing himself from her when she knew for a fact that it hurt him to stay away from her as much as it hurt her to be away from him? They would say he had gone shooting or trapping or hunting or even ice fishing. Well, she would count the number of excuses they would give out before they sentenced her. Because that was what they were about to do - sentence her to a life of imprisonment in Amestris.

What had she expected anyway? To be the only one in her family to be happily married? Why should she go against tradition and live the fairytale life that could only exist in stories? What was so special about her anyway? The woman in her vanity mirror looked the picture of royalty and grace, a perfect image to send to millions of people as a message. Look how happy she was married to some womanizing bastard, away from home and her family, from the sheer life force that bound her to her native lands.

And yet, it wasn't His Excellency she was mad at. She was furious that there was no way out. Hurt as it may, she would do it. Because this was what she had been raised for. To either extend the kinship among royals or live the rest of her life as a political statement. It was the easiest, least violent way of uniting the two nations and even she couldn't think of a way out of it or a better solution to the conflict that had plagued their countries for so long. Apparently, Daniel understood this too or he would be here by her side, holding her in his arms and telling her he loved her.

Iolanth wasn't one to throw out dramatic gestures or make scenes. So that night, she quietly and methodically shredded the silk scarf Daniel had given her a few years ago using a blade she had requested from the kitchen earlier. And once the flimsy fabric that usually adorned her head was in wispy slivers, she let it fly out her balcony window, weaving ghostly white patterns in the sky and giving the illusion that it was snowing.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

Engagement… what?

If it wasn't for the fact that she never read a document wrong, she would have fooled herself into thinking she had done exactly that.

_Engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement…_

No, repeating it in her head didn't make sense either. Oh no, the political side of it made perfect sense. It was just… the engagement didn't make sense. The Fuhrer didn't make sense.

_Engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement, engagement…_

And now this stupid office wasn't making sense. Who put the floor so close to her face? Why were Fuery's shoes so scruffy and unpolished? She'd have to talk to him about it later. And why were all the lights slowly going out? Where was… The Fuhrer… Where was… Roy..?

"Colonel Havoc! Havoc! Come quick, I think there's something wrong with General Hawkeye! I think she's unconscious!"

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she scribbled away, her chair turned to an angle so she wouldn't accidentally look at him. She was signing papers like she always did, making good use of her time, which was more than he could say for himself. And he knew why her back was to him. Because she knew, as well a he did, that this had to happen. They hadn't discussed it and he knew they never will. But they had both known that sacrifices would be needed on their part to make the next step of their vision a reality. And he respected her too much to think she would back out now. His General was the most self-sacrificing person he knew and she would never let her own wants stand in the way of what was good for the country.

It didn't make him hate himself any less though, watching the woman he loved making arrangements for his impending nuptial.

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

"We don't need to impress on your that this has to look _realistic_, we trust?"

"Of course not, Your Majesty."

"You have done well, Iolanth, We always did tell Nikolas you were the brightest of his daughters."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Go forth, child, and usher in the era of peace for our Drachma."

"With your blessings, Your Majesty."

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> So… still hate Roy? Or Iolanth?


	7. Reality Check

**Acknowledgment:** Boorkwrm389, the S/F is totally for you, thanks for being such an amazing beta!

* * *

><p><em>I would change the world,<em>

_if I had a chance._

_Oh won't you let me..?_

* * *

><p>Lieutenant Ruby Dunne stood frozen by her desk, wondering how this could have happened.<p>

Colonel McPherson's face had gone beetroot red at the sight of Liz's dog, and even though he looked like he was about to simultaneously die of humiliation and kill the animal for behaving in such a way to the Fuhrer, she couldn't help but think that Hayate was usually so much better behaved than this. Hell, it had taken the dog weeks to warm up to her boys, and even then Ruby was sure the dog was only being polite. She hadn't been surprised. He was Liz's dog after all; it would be unnatural for him to take to someone right off the bat.

Colonel McPherson was definitely going to fire Liz for this. He might even court martial her. Could someone get court martialed for something like this? Ruby wasn't sure, but she did know with no uncertainty that her superior would definitely try. Which would be awful because without Liz – responsible, reliable, punctual Liz – nothing would ever get done and Ruby would probably either end up being let go next or having to work with someone new who would, as her luck would have it, be a complete bitch and not make spiced tea when Ruby was upset about something.

Lieutenant Ruby Dunne was not a particularly brave woman. Even if she had been in the military for over eight years now, she had never seen active duty. Truth be told, she had only signed up because of the great health package and the new policy that stated if both parents were part of the service their children would be taken care of by the state if anything unpleasant were to occur. For heaven's sake, she was afraid of things like mice and roaches, so how could she be expected to go out and fight for her country? A desk job suited her because it required no confrontation of any sort and Ruby had never seen the need to change that.

But today she was going to. The Dublithian woman was going to tell her superior – the superior who routinely terrified her, it couldn't be denied – not to fire her colleague. After all, Liz had a lot working in her favor. She was a great employee and a nice person to boot, and as efficient as four of those bimbos from McPherson's own unit.

With that thought clearly in mind, the redhead opened her mouth, regardless of what the consequences might be, regardless of the fact that the Fuhrer was on the hard stone floor being mauled by Liz's dog, regardless of the fact that her kids might lose their mother after Ruby's last brave stand.

Only, another voice beat her to it. And it came from the ground, only slightly muffled by the black and white hurricane licking every bit of the speaker's skin he could reach.

"Black Hayate, good boy! I've missed you too!"

This time, it wasn't just Colonel McPherson who stared from Liz to His Excellency with a puzzled expression on his face.

* * *

><p>Roy had imagined seeing her for the first time after five years would be a spiritual experience. Perhaps time would stand still and he would try to mouth words that would evaporate as they left his lips. Perhaps she would look at him with the wonder of a three-year-old child laying eyes for the first time on an almost seven-year-old boy who had shown up at her doorstep.<p>

He certainly wasn't expecting barely a glimpse of her bent golden head before being ambushed by her dog.

"Black Hayate, good boy! I've missed you too!"

The Shiba Inu barked once again, prancing around him even as he attempted to get to his feet. By this time, the blubbering Colonel had finally collected himself enough to mutter unintelligible apologies and Havoc's blond head had poked through the door.

"Everything okay, Ch-?" Havoc's face froze at the sight of the woman still stubbornly refusing to look up from her desk.

"Everything's fine, Lieutenant General, just an excited pet. Perhaps the Lieutenant would be so kind as to take him out for some exercise?" he suggested to the woman standing beside Hawkeye. The redhead blanched, before nodding her head and almost tripping in her haste to drag the dog out of the room and away from her Colonel's death glares.

"You Excellency, once again, I would like to personally apologize for that beast's actions. Let me assure you that measures of the strictest nature will be-" McPherson began, only to be cut off by Roy mid-speech.

"Actually Colonel, the dog could hardly be blamed, being cooped up in this office all day. Naturally it would get excited at a newcomer's presence. In fact, I would even go so far as to suggest that you honor the dog as a true member of the Amestrian service for his vigilant disposition." Roy replied smoothly, shutting the balding soldier up.

The alchemist chanced another glance at Hawkeye, and what he saw next made his heart clench. All her folders were neatly stacked to one side, and the reports she had been in the middle of just minutes ago had disappeared. Discreetly, the blonde was reaching for her bag, and if Roy didn't do something soon, she would be out the door and away from him, again.

No, this time he would _not_ let her go.

"In fact, Havoc, why don't you take the good Colonel outside and explain it to him while I have a word with the lady?"

Before Havoc could reply, Hawkeye's voice rang through the room, clearly addressing her direct superior and no one else.

"Actually Colonel McPherson, I feel a bit under the weather so I'd like to take the rest of the day off. I'm sure Lieutenant Dunne would be able to help with whatever needs to be done in my absence," the woman stood up and made her way to the door.

McPherson looked torn, raking his eyes fearfully over Roy and then angrily at Hawkeye because, while she had phrased it perfectly cordially, no one was under the impression that she was asking permission.

Just as he was about to answer, Roy gave Havoc a signal and the blond in turn took the Colonel by the arm and steered him out. And just as Hawkeye was about to follow in their wake, Roy in turn grabbed _her_ arm and pushed her back, using his other hand to push the metal doors to the tiny office closed.

The last thing McPherson saw before the door banged shut was a tiny glowing flame on the Fuhrer's palm before the smell of burnt metal reached his nose.

* * *

><p>The phone rang urgently, making Falman look up from the latest batch of promotion forms he had been poring over for the better part of the last hour.<p>

"Fuhrer Mustang's office, how may I assist you?"

"Vato, oh thank God, you're there. I was afraid you would be on your way home and didn't know if I should call or just go home and wait for you there!"

"Sciezka dear, calm down," Falman tried to reassure his wife, an almost smile crawling onto his face at her voice, even it was slightly panicked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh God, Vato. I messed everything up! I'm so stupid," his wife breathed over the phone, her tone rising steadily into a hysterical pitch and making him worry.

"Sciezka, would you please just tell me what happened?"

"The First Lady… she asked about… Miss Riza…" Sciezka sounded as surprised as he felt at the news. But there were more important things to discuss now than how Her Ladyship knew of Hawkeye.

"And what did you tell her?'

A slight pause, and then a barely concealed sob. "E-everything."

_Shit!_ The Warrant Officer swore internally. If there was such a thing as bad timing, Mustang and Hawkeye had perfected it over the years when it came to talking things out. They didn't need help from the fates too.

"Sciezka, listen to me carefully. This is not your fault, darling. I don't know what happened, but I'm sure you aren't to blame. I'm coming to pick you up, are you at the Prudential Manor?" the man asked gently, trying to soothe his clearly distressed wife.

He heard a gulp before she confirmed that she was indeed at the manor. Already reaching for the jacket hung at the back of his chair, Falman said, "I'll be there in twenty minutes. We'll get home, talk it over and request an audience with Her Ladyship first thing tomorrow."

Just as he was about to hang up, she choked out, "She's not going to be there, Vato. The First Lady has already made arrangements to leave for Dublith in the morning."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth Grumman watched in horror as the Fuhrer snapped his gloved fingers, producing a small but white hot spark on the tips of his fingers. And before she could say a word, the spark had collided with the lock mechanism on the steel door, melting the metal out of shape in seconds and effectively locking them both into the tiny office of the human resources subdivision of the Dublith military base.<p>

"Can we talk?" he asked, pulling his gloves off and stuffing them into his pockets.

She considered his request for a minute before stepping up to him. The next thing she knew, her palm had struck his cheek of its own accord and a small river of tears had gathered beneath her eyelashes.

"No!"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Revenge of The Reviewers II, now in 3D! ;)


	8. The Breakthrough

**Acknowledgement:** A tip of the hat, as usual, to Bookwrm389 for watching this car accident unfold. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish mebh a very happy birthday. Send her some wishes, everyone, you know you want to!

* * *

><p><em>Treat me like a child,<em>

_put your arms around me,_

_Oh please protect me…_

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang slowly brought his right hand up to his cheek, which was no doubt swiftly turning red due to Hawkeye's… displeasure at the situation. The skin felt warm to the touch, and it must have looked bad too as the blonde had resolutely turned her back on him, her apology clear in the firm set of her shoulders.<p>

But there was no pain. In fact, Roy could feel a stupid smile stretching across his face, all the way up to his eyes. To both of their surprises, he even let out a gurgle of laughter.

Because he couldn't remember the last time Hawkeye had made physical contact with him. Even before she left, she had always conducted herself with the utmost professionalism, and the only recent time he recalled being close to her was during the brief period when he was blind. He wondered if she would slap him again if he told her he missed the feeling of her solid shoulder under his palm, and he quickly came to the conclusion that, even if she did, it wouldn't be all that undesirable.

"Really General, I had no idea you missed me as much as I did you."

The woman didn't reply. She didn't even look at him.

The Fuhrer took a step toward her, feeling like he was stepping around an active minefield. When no explosions blossomed across the tiny office, he braved another step until he was finally standing right behind her. Slowly, reverently, he lifted a hand to her shoulder, touching her as lightly as he possibly could, afraid to even breathe too noisily in case it really was a dream and the woman in front of him just another apparition born of too many vodka shots.

She felt real. Her uniform was starched as always, the blue wool rough underneath his fingers, a sliver of spun sunlight brushing across his knuckle. As much as he didn't want to, Roy closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Yes, she even smelled of Hawkeye. A scent made up of generic laundry detergent and gun powder and the clean air of spring.

His musings were rudely disturbed when the woman in front of him cleared her throat and moved a few steps away.

"My apologies," he muttered, a slight red tint appearing around his ears. "Would you believe me if I said I was only confirming you were real?"

Again, his only response was her expressionless, ramrod straight back.

"Come on Hawkeye, you're just never going to talk to me? Don't you think that's a little childish at our age?"

This did catch her attention. The blonde spun on her heels as if she was about to strike him again but only settled for a death glare. The right side of his face must have reddened considerably for her not to attempt to hit him again.

"Well, the decision is yours. Just know that I'm prepared to spend as much time as needed locked up in this charming office until you've decided to grace my questions with some answers." He continued the one-sided conversation. This time, an incredulous expression appeared in her eyes. Her eyes, those two dark pools of honey and blood and fire and wine… it was ridiculous really, how just the sight of them transported him back twenty five years to the bumbling teenager who had tried to ask his master's daughter out to her own school dance.

"As you wish," he murmured as she quickly averted her gaze. "But if you think I'm going to get tired of being in the same room as you, you're sadly mistaken, General."

* * *

><p>Lieutenant General Jean Havoc was still in a state of shock.<p>

When Hawkeye left Central Command all those years ago, he had tried his best to keep in touch with her. Writing to her every week regardless of whether she ever responded, sending her small tokens for her birthday, keeping her up to date with the goings-on at HQ. Oftentimes - and especially when the replies became too scarce to be called correspondence– he felt he was writing more of his personal thoughts on paper than to an old friend. He remembered writing about Catalina missing her, about Fuery's latest antics, about the new law on uniform regulations (sadly, not the miniskirt one, Mustang had lied to all of them), and finally, just writing for the sake of writing. So that no matter how much he pretended in the office, he would never forget that a woman by the name of Riza Hawkeye had existed in their lives.

After two years, she had stopped replying completely, something that only hit home when his unopened letters were returned to him, one after the other. But instead of being angry, Havoc had only experienced sorrow and a little pride that while she hadn't kept in touch with anyone else, she had done so with him no matter how irregularly.

And now, she was right here, as though back from the dead. She was in the same building and locked in with Mustang while he, Havoc, was under orders to keep everyone away from the small subdivision office. Which was precisely what he was explaining to General Breda after dragging his superior into the corner of the small kitchenette shared by the offices on level two.

"So let me see if I have this right. Hawkeye and His Excellency are locked into the office down the corridor and we have to make sure no one goes there. And we do so by conducting an inspection here, which involves leading everyone outside?"

"Pretty Much."

Breda growled under his breath, his unintelligible mutterings sounding a lot like, "That son of a bitch better have a good excuse."

* * *

><p>"And how about when that gentleman - Dave Clippie I believe - who followed you home from school? I daresay he was the worst of your stalkers. Certainly, it took a considerable amount of effort on my part to... <em>convince<em> him you weren't interested. Do you remember how you nearly took my eye out with your slingshot when you found out? I distinctly remember you telling me it wasn't any of my business…" Roy trailed off, looking up at her face to see if she would betray even the tiniest sign of cracking.

Thus far, her face had been a cool mask of indifference, and seeing as she refused to speak, Roy had simply walked over to her and sat down by her side, recounting stories of their childhood, their early days in the military, anything that would coax a smile from her. Until now, all his efforts had been in vain, but he had only been talking for an hour or so. There was still time.

"You know, I honestly thought I had grown out of scaring your potential suitors away. No one knows better than I how good you are at looking after yourself so I never saw the need. Until Thompson at Eastern Command. You remember Thompson, don't you General? I was still a Colonel back then, and he was a Lieutenant, first or second I can't be bothered to recall…"

"Second."

"That's right, he was Second Lieutenant under-" Abruptly, Roy cut himself off, realizing that Hawkeye had actually spoken. He shot another hopeful look her way, but her face was just as unrevealing as it had been a second ago. For a moment, he wondered if she had only spoken to correct a factual error out of habit, but in the end he decided it didn't matter. What mattered was that she had contributed something to the conversation, and even if the progress was slow, it was there. He would keeping talking for the rest of eternity if it meant he could sit by her side and occasionally hear a word or two from her, and hope, wish and even pray for a small smile.

"Yes, and I don't think he was very pleased to find all his beddings mysteriously burned to ashes either. But it did get the message across quite effectively, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

><p>Contrary to what Captain Sciezka Falman thought, this wasn't the princess's first introduction to Riza Hawkeye. No, Iolanth had learned of the mysterious Riza only a few months after her wedding when The Fuhrer, inebriated on a particularly delightful rice wine from Xing, had decided to demonstrate his affection by taking her to bed. She remembered lying beside his dozing form, thinking that perhaps this would work out after all. Perhaps their marriage, though not ideal, would be a good one nonetheless.<p>

It was at that point when her husband had run a lazy hand through her golden hair, his eyes still closed and a small smile adorning his features, and murmured "Riza… "

Iolanth had done her best to keep her tears at bay when the meaning of the two syllables had sunk in.

Of course, she couldn't blame him for loving someone else – because he clearly did love this mysterious woman, as was apparent to even the blindest of fools. Hadn't she herself been in love with another before? So these feelings of hurt and guilt had no place in her. It had been even harder to pretend the next day that it hadn't happened, but it did inspire Iolanth to try and make a friend of her husband. On many occasions after that, she had tried to talk to him in the interest of getting to know him better. And being the gentleman that he was, Roy had always indulged her, in more ways than one.

She still remembered when their evening talks had turned to past relationships a year or so after their wedding. She had asked if he was ever involved with anyone seriously, lightly teasing that she knew how Amestrian men were so he needn't sugarcoat anything for her benefit. He, in turn, had dodged the question saying it took considerable time and effort to make it to Fuhrership before the age of forty, which sadly didn't leave much room for a serious relationship. He had been too much of a decent man to ask her the same question, because she was sure he knew _she_ wouldn't be able to lie as smoothly as he had.

But deny as much as he might, the First Lady knew Riza very well, all her information obtained through him. She knew this Riza was a blonde because Roy found her hair particularly enchanting though he sometimes let slip that it wasn't the right shade. She knew this Riza probably wore her hair up because whenever she herself did, Roy always pulled it loose, telling her it looked pretty scattered all around her face and not fooling her for a second. She knew he must have known Riza for a long time because he often spoke of courting her as a teen when he was in a nostalgic mood – though he never mentioned her by name. But mostly, she knew this woman by the scores of hidden poetry written in Riza's honor that her husband hid in a concealed drawer in his dressing room.

Iolanth had found the compartment quite by accident one morning and she had gone through all the pieces of paper littering the small space - some crumpled, some folded, some just shoved in carelessly, but all covered in his elegant script and consisting of sonnets, haikus, and ballads he had written at some point or another. All seemed to be dedicated to the same person.

The First Lady had cried openly then, clutching the pieces of paper to her chest as hot tears flowed down her face. Here was the evidence she needed. Proof that her husband would never love anyone as much as he loved this Riza. She cried for herself that day, for her own marriage, for Roy and even for this woman whom she should hate.

Once her tears had run dry, she had put all the papers back, and as usual, pretended it had never happened. This was, after all, the way she had been brought up to behave. Ignoring all pain and sorrow and keeping up appearances had been drilled into her from an early age. So she had done exactly that for the next four years.

But now, Iolanth Mustang found herself unable to do that anymore. No, to be at peace with herself, she had to talk it out with her husband. She was very well aware that this could lead nowhere, or worse, make an already risky situation more volatile still. But for her own sake, she had to discuss it with him. Which was why she was headed to Dublith.

Silently, the woman offered up a prayer to the Gods as she watched the countryside rushing by through the train window.

* * *

><p>"I still think it was rather cruel of you to laugh at me. As if I wasn't being punished enough by having to regrow my eyebrows. And it <em>was<em> my first attempt with flame alchemy. Though I must admit it did spur me on to work harder, even if to just rub it in your face once I was good enough." Roy chuckled at the memory of his eighteen-year-old self going red with embarrassment as his master's daughter sank into a chair, weak with laughter.

"You know, General, I remember thinking later that night, if you would laugh like that every time I screwed up, I would do so intentionally forever."

This time, when he looked up at her face, not only was he rewarded with a soft smile but a small tear running down her cheek. Reaching his hand up, he softly brushed the tear aside with his fingertip.

"Can we please talk?" he asked, his voice cracking from the strain of watching another tear make its way down her face. "Please…"

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, holding on to him tightly with her face buried in his chest as all the emotion she had been keeping locked inside flowed out in cascading tears and choked sobs. And all he could do was hold on to her just as tightly, stroking her hair and feeling his own eyes moisten as he held the woman he loved more than anything and anyone in the whole world.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> *attempts to redeem self in the eyes of Royai fans once more* Is it working?


	9. The Truth

**Acknowledgment:** My eternal gratitude goes to Bookwrm389 for being an amazing pillar of support throughout this whole train wreck of a fic and to maryh10000 for being an invaluable asset when it comes to enlightening me on military social habits. This chapter is – as is the whole story – dedicated to everyone who has ever cried a genuine tear over this pairing.

* * *

><p><em>Bruised and battered by your words,<em>

_dazed and shattered now it hurts…_

_Haven't I always loved you..?_

* * *

><p>"AND SALUTE!" barked General Breda to the cadets lined up in front of him. As expected, they gave their sharpest ones, hoping to impress the fancy General from Central. Poor sods. If only they knew they were only there because the leader of the country had fucked up so badly that he needed to be locked up in a room with Hawkeye to fix it. But then again, wasn't that what cadets were for? To serve a purpose they would never ever be aware of?<p>

It had been approximately four hours since the Fuhrer had barricaded himself and Hawkeye from the outside world, and it was already nearing five. In less than an hour, he would have to let everyone go and get both Roy and Hawkeye out of there. They couldn't very well just leave the two overnight. This was the military, for fuck's sake, there were rules and protocol. That bumbling Colonel McPearson or whatever was already fidgety about the whole situation, and Breda didn't blame him one bit. The circumstances were extenuating, to say the least.

"AT EASE!" he barked again and while the cadets followed the motion, none of them looked the slightest bit at ease. Just as he was about to dismiss them, he caught sight of a blond head moving in his direction. Signaling the cadets to stay put, the redhead turned to Havoc, who reached his side in quick, formal strides. Upon closer inspection, he could see Havoc's hand twitching slightly. The soldier needed a smoke bad.

"Any update on the situation down under?"

"'Fraid not," the Lieutenant General replied. "Still no word from the King or Queen, but I don't think she's killed him yet." Havoc didn't sound particularly happy at the last part.

"Well, what's the problem then?"

"Falman just called. According to him, the First Lady is aware of the operation and is on her way as we speak." The man curled his hand into a fist, trying not to grit his teeth in frustration.

"You have got to be kidding," Breda blurted. Just when he thought things couldn't get more surreal, they did.

"Nope, she's really coming. And we have to decide whether to tell Roy…"

Now Breda understood the nervousness Havoc was displaying clearly. If they were to barge in there and warn His Excellency, they might ruin whatever bridges he and Hawkeye were building in there, and if they didn't, they would just have to hope that the two came out with enough time to spare for a heads up.

Yeah, like fate would be so kind. With the way their luck was going, the princess would probably walk in on them all cozied up in that office.

As the commanding officer, it was Breda's call, and after a few minutes of deliberating the matter, he finally uttered, "Maintain position and don't inform him yet. When does her ladyship arrive?"

"Not until 1930 hours, I believe. We might only need to hold down the fort until then."

"Right, you had best go inform the General in charge – and don't forget to stress the P and C of the situation. And after that, I want you to scout out a few lower ranking officers who don't like that idiot Colonel. Tell them anything, tell them you'll mention them as exemplary in our report, just have them spaced out all around level two at 1730 sharp!"

"Yes Sir!"

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, both he and Hawkeye had regained composure. She had apologized for ruining his uniform and he for everything else. Finally, she was seated across from him on her desk and ready to talk.<p>

"What would you like to know, sir?"

"Why you left, of course."

The blonde looked down at her neatly folded hands, avoiding his eyes. "Because you didn't stop me."

"Are you saying you thought I _wanted_ you to leave, General?"

Again, Hawkeye responded without looking up. "Yes and no. At first, it was easier to believe that you did. You certainly helped the notion along, if you'll excuse me. But later on, I realized that I left for another reason altogether, a selfish one at that."

'And what was that?' he asked, his voice gentle.

"I… didn't think I was strong enough to go through with the wedding. To stand there and watch... and to come to work every day knowing…" she trailed off, trying to find words that would justify her departure. She stopped when she felt his warm hand on hers. "In the end, the only way I could help was by leaving..." she almost whispered.

"You know, not a day went by without me thinking of you. I used to find myself thinking of you and wondering where you were at the oddest times. And when I actually made a conscious effort _not_ to think of you, I dreamed…" Now it was her turn to catch her breath.

"You asked why I didn't stop you. I can give you the same reason, except I can't possibly explain how it felt to see you every day and know that I could never show my affection. How long have we been together? More than thirty years now, and I can't even kiss you the way I always dreamed about as a teenager and then a man. Do you know Hughes always told me to get a wife? And he wasn't just referring to anyone, he very well meant you. And I'm sure your late grandfather made his own opinion known about us to you too." This brought half a smile to her face.

"'After returning from Drachma, I wrestled with the notion of telling you in person every day. But I was scared. I was embarrassed and afraid that you would leave. And somehow, when you did leave, I thought it was on my wishes as much as yours. At least, it hurt less to think that way."

"Telling me what exactly? That you were planning a political move in the form of an international wedding?"

"Yes, that too… but mostly I just wanted to say that I loved you. It was during those weeks that I realized I had never actually said that to you, ever. In all the time we've known each other," he admittedly softly.

She stayed quiet as only Hawkeye could be, drinking in every word and silently asking for more. It was funny really, how all this had been so hard to say five years ago, but now it was flowing out of him in a steady stream. Years away from her had left him more inhibited than he had cared to acknowledge, he realized with a start.

"As for why I didn't tell you about the wedding…I know now I should have been honest from the start, but you were always so good at understanding things I never said. Even when we were kids, you always knew what I needed, how I needed it and when it was appropriate to give it to me. The biggest testament to that would be Ishval…" The alchemist still remembered that night when she had turned up at his tent, silent as the ghosts of all those he'd killed, and her eyes, he had imagined then, just as accusatory. It was she who had climbed into his sleeping bag with him, curled up around his body like a safe, warm, familiar blanket that gave the illusion that no harm could penetrate it.

"I guess this was just another thing I expected you to understand, like you did with everything else. I now realize it was taking the coward's way out, but how could you ever have thought I didn't want you at my side anymore? No matter what the misunderstanding, surely you must have known that a king is useless without his queen?"

"You should have told me all of this, sir. I deserved at least that much," her eyes were lowered but her tone absolute.

"I cannot possibly tell you how much you deserve. Certainly more than anything I can give you. Did you know the _real_ reason behind why I came back the day your father passed away? I came back to ask for your hand in marriage. I knew the possibility of him agreeing was slim, especially given his view of the military, but I had to try. I was even prepared to ask you to run away and elope if it came to that.

"But then there were funeral arrangements to make, and you showed me his research. And soon after, I was deployed to Ishval. Somehow, there just wasn't the right time." He finished sadly, softly stroking her callused fingers as he spoke.

"You know, Sir, you did ask me to marry you once in Ishval…"

Roy looked up in surprise. "When was that?"

"It was on one of those nights… you were almost asleep, and I had gotten up to use the latrine. When I came back, you were only half awake but you held me closer when I lay down and asked me to stay with you forever. You said Ishval hadn't torn us apart so death surely wouldn't stand a chance."

The alchemist gazed up at her in wonder for she had just recounted word for word, a scenario he was sure he had only dreamed. He remembered Ishval all too well, and he remembered wanting to protect her above all else but being afraid to ask in case she just laughed in his face and reminded him she was in this position only because of _him_. Roy had hated himself for a lot of things during those years, one of them being fucking her in her tent against the tarp covered sand when she deserved to be worshipped at a pedestal.

"Did you reply?"

"Does it matter now?"

"It will always matter to me..."

She remained silent, and her answer was so plain it was as if it were shouted to the room and echoing off the walls. Like so much of the rest of their lives, she had only whispered into the cool night air, _"I want to, more than anything. But we can't…"_

* * *

><p>A salute consists of three main parts starting with a lower ranking officer raising his hand to his forehead in greeting and being acknowledged - in the form of a full salute - by the higher ranking officer. The lower ranking officer can then come full circle by bringing his hand down. Of course, this ritual comes with its own set of implications and power shows. For example, a higher ranking officer can make his subordinate infinitely hold a salute if he chooses not to return it. It is quite embarrassing to be holding your hand up to your forehead the whole time a superior is addressing you just because the superior wants to clarify that he has more power than you. It is considered a cheap and petty action.<p>

Conversely, saluting can also be used to embarrass and/or annoy the higher ranking officer if a few lower ranks choose to gang up on him, whereby they would scatter themselves around an area the higher rank frequents and salute him as he passes them by at regular intervals, forcing him to return the salute over and over again, wasting valuable time by doing so.

Which was exactly what Lieutenant General Jean Havoc had instructed the seven lieutenants gathered around him to do. Their job was easy, to stall Colonel McPherson for as long as they possibly could before he reached the human resource subdivision office on level two. Their reward, an audience with the Fuhrer himself.

"Alright men, spread out. And remember, every minute you buy is another minute the Fuhrer will be giving you," snapped the blond curtly, checking his watch. It was almost 1800 hours and McPherson and Breda would be on their way any minute now.

Colonel McPherson was not going to go home happy today. And in the opinion of the seven Lieutenants employed to ensure that, it was about damn time. Finally, some justice would be served to the man who had made them hold salutes for up to twenty minutes at a time.

* * *

><p>The whistle blew as the train neared the station, jolting Iolanth Mustang awake from the doze she had fallen in an hour or so earlier. Opening her eyes wearily, the woman saw the Dublith station approaching fast. This was it. She was finally going to talk to Roy and work through this whole mess.<p>

The blonde tried to ignore the feeling of dread slowly crawling up her chest as she gathered her things, ready to disembark.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> This chapter was really hard on both me and my beta so I would really like to know what you guys thought of this. We're almost at the end, folks, thanks for sticking around until now.


	10. The Request

**Acknowledgement:** A great big warm and squishy hug to Bookwrm389 for sending this back in the blink of an eye and a salute (the non bullying kind) to maryh10000 for all her valuable advice and insight regarding the political situation in this piece of fan fiction. Thank you, First Lieutenant, for all your help!

* * *

><p><em>But when I need you, you're almost here…<em>

_Well I never knew how far behind I left you…_

_And when I hold you, you're almost here…_

_Well I'm sorry that I took our love for granted…_

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang got to his feet and walked towards the small window of the office, popping the latch and letting in the rapidly cooling evening winds of Dublith. Somehow, the office seemed too small now for all the confessions that had been made in it. As if all the words they should have said and were still not saying hung in the air, thickening the atmosphere with their invisible presence.<p>

"You know, Sir, despite everything, I would have stayed if you had asked me to," a soft voice spoke from behind him.

Sighing deeply, the alchemist nodded. "I know," he admitted at last. Her next words almost took his breath away.

"Then why didn't you?"

Roy gazed out at the evening sky. The sun was already beginning to sink, turning the heavens a breathtaking combination of pink, orange and purple.

"Have you ever noticed, General, that everything bad that has ever happened to you has been my doing?' he answered her question with one of his own. When Roy was but a young and idealistic boy, his dream had been simple enough. He had wanted to learn alchemy and make Riza Hawkeye smile more – something she did not do as much as a girl her age should in his opinion. When he was a little older, he had wanted to join the military and use his alchemy to protect people and get married to the girl he had loved since he realized what love was. A little later, his dream had evolved to include using alchemy in war like a hero, killing those who posed a threat towards Amestris and coming back to the one person who anchored him more than anyone else.

In a way, no matter how big his dreams grew, they had always involved Riza Hawkeye in one way or another. But all that had gone to hell when he had seen her in Ishval. He was neither stupid nor naïve enough to believe she wasn't there because of him.

"The first time I realized I had effectively ruined whatever chance you might have had at happiness was when I first saw you in Ishval. Yes, it was a few weeks before you came to me with your questions. I had spotted you right from the start when all the new recruits were being unloaded. And I hid from you as best I could until you saved my life. The last I had seen of you was when you revealed your father's research. And then there you were, with eyes as hollow as mine. And it was then I realized that I was responsible for more than the murders of the Ishvalans."

Roy turned from the window, making his way back to the small sofa where Hawkeye was currently perched, her head tilted at an angle so her bangs fell in front of her eyes and hid her face from him.

"And then… you asked me why we were killing those we should protect, and I had no answer. But that didn't worry me as much as the fact that you stopped talking after that. You never spoke to anyone, remember? And all the time I kept thinking that I had promised your father I would look after you. A fine job I was doing, as I'm sure he would agree. If there really is such a thing as an afterlife, he would have been sending flames of damnation down on me from it," he laughed bitterly.

"I tried everything I could to make you speak out. And then you were at my tent one night, and all I could think of was how I wanted to hold you and _pretend_. Pretend that I could protect you when in reality, I was the demon you needed protection from. _Pretend_ that I loved you because… how could I after what I did to you? I kept thinking that I loved you and that excused everything I did, but when Bradley transferred you under him… I realized that wasn't an excuse. And then as you bled in front of my eyes, all I could see was how I had once again marked your skin in ways far worse than Master ever had. But by then, things had gone too far. You were just as safe working under my command as you were anywhere else. In fact, at least under my command, I could see you every day and make sure you stayed alive and unhurt – even if only in a purely physical sense. Every moment of every day, I was aware of all that I had taken away from you, and in becoming Fuhrer, I had hoped that I would finally be able to free you of my hold. The opportunity with Iolanth presented itself conveniently, and I would be lying if at the back of my mind, I never thought that you would finally be rid of the demon that had been haunting you your entire life."

Quietly, Roy sank to his knees in front of her, reaching to cover one of her hands with his and using the other to lift her face up so their eyes met.

"But I now know that I had it right when I was just a boy. That was the dream I should have pursued. Because all the years apart have taught me one thing, and it's that I don't want a big grand dream if you're not in it."

She made no reply. She didn't have to. The small tear rolling down her cheek said enough, and he bent forwards slightly, brushing his lips to the wet trail it had left behind on her skin.

"Please come back… I need you."

To his surprise, he felt her go rigid under his touch. A moment later, she disentangled her hand from his and got to her feet, wiping hastily at her eyes.

"Why must you always ask the impossible, Sir? You always ask more of me than I can possibly give!" she said thickly, making her way to her desk and rummaging in one of the drawers as though looking for something crucial.

"Here," The Fuhrer offered her a handkerchief as she was clearly having trouble locating one in her current state.

"Thank you," the blonde discreetly dried her eyes before continuing. "You know we can't, sir. There is too much at stake here. We made a promise to carry the corpses across the rivers of blood, remember? So that Ishval would never happen again. So how could you possibly think I would agree to be the _reason_ for another war?"

"What about the promise to follow me, General? You said you would follow me into hell, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we're there. So shouldn't you be by my side?"

She remained silent, staring at nothing. When it became evident she wasn't going to respond, Roy continued.

"All I know is that I can't do this anymore. The last few years, all I did was come to the office every day and hope that one of those days, you would be at your station. And every day when you weren't, the realization that you were no longer around was renewed," the alchemist finished softly, bowing his raven head so as not to look at her directly as he admitted what he had denied even to himself for the past five years. "I can't live without you anymore."

Her blonde head was lowered as well when she spoke next. "You will have to, Sir. We both will…"

* * *

><p>Physically, General Heymans Breda might be escorting Colonel McPherson to the elevator that would take them to level two, but mentally the redhead was anything but focused on the task at hand – made all the more easy by Lieutenants popping up from around corners now and then to salute to the flustered Colonel, buying them precious minutes.<p>

Usually, it was a sign of narcissism to think everyone but you in the world had lost their fucking minds. But after Roy had revealed his plans to marry the princess in Drachma a little over five years ago, Breda had felt sure that this was indeed the case.

One of the reasons Breda had been initially handpicked by the Flame Alchemist to join his command was because, fat and lazy as he may appear, Breda read people like an open book. He was also one of the best strategists in the country. Which was why Breda had been furious when he had learned that Roy was planning to strengthen ties with Drachma through a marriage, of all things. To him, the Fuhrer might as well have announced that he was planning on playing chess with only half his pieces from the start.

But Breda had kept quiet because it wasn't his place to say what his superior should have already known. And if Roy had suspected that his subordinate wasn't happy with the decision, then he probably attributed it to some sort of loyalty to Hawkeye and nothing more. And it was at least partially true. Breda was quite fond of Hawkeye and had known right off the bat how this would affect both her and Mustang. He also knew that once the democracy His Excellency always preached rolled around, there would be some pissed off Drachmans to deal with.

The main difference between Roy and Breda was that the former was an opportunist and the latter, a strategist. So while Mustang had taken the opportunity as it presented itself, Breda had been the only one thinking about how all the pieces would fit together on the board. Breda hadn't lied when he said he didn't have enough pieces to play with anymore. The Fuhrer might have thought he was only giving up his queen – and justified it through some sense of altruism, Breda would wager – but in truth, he had fucked up the entire game in one move.

If it wasn't for the fact that Chris would have his ass on a platter for it, Breda would have punched Mustang's lights out when he let Hawkeye go. Absently, the General found himself wishing she was here now, seeing as she was the only one who could get through to her thick-skulled nephew.

"What the hell?" Colonel McPherson seethed as the lights on the elevator buttons went dead. "Guess we're taking the stairs, my apologies General, I can't imagine what's wrong with everything today."

"Neither can I," the redhead replied dryly.

* * *

><p>Iolanth Mustang stepped out of the black sedan that had driven her to the military base in Dublith, her day long journey apparent in her tired eyes and pallid skin. As prearranged, Lieutenant General Havoc was there to greet her.<p>

"Welcome to Dublith, Your Ladyship."

"Thank you, Lieutenant General," she replied as pleasantly as she could, given the circumstances. "Please escort me to His Excellency."

"Er… My Lady, The Fuhrer is otherwise engaged at the moment, but if Your Ladyship would deign to wait in the private lounge, I'm sure he will become available shortly," the tall man responded, invisible strands of worry knotted all over his person. So it really was what Iolanth had feared, her husband _was _here with that mysterious Riza.

"I'm afraid I can't wait that long. I need to speak with him urgently. Please take me to wherever he is," she insisted politely, making it clear that she was issuing an order and not a request.

The man looked taken aback for a minute before he saluted smartly. "Of course, Lady Mustang, right this way."

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> *is completely emotionally drained* *weakly points to review button*


	11. An Understanding

**Acknowledgement:** This chapter wouldn't have been possible without help from the following: 1) Bookwrm389 whose awesomeness knows no bounds, 2) maryh10000 who gave me her valuable time and went over this story and all the political issues as well as red tape with me and 3) Sonja Jade who is responsible for the Breda/Chris pairing that has now become my headcanon. All three are amazing writers so I suggest you check them out right away.

* * *

><p><em>And now I'm with you,<em>

_I'm close to tears,_

'_Cuz I know I'm almost here…_

* * *

><p>The truth was a difficult thing to acknowledge. And for as long as they could remember, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye had contented themselves with running around it, away from it and parallel to it. After all, it was much easier to <em>show<em> how they felt than talk about it. Ever since Ishval, the alchemist and his most trusted subordinate had mastered the art of finding ways to _not talk_. Everyone admired them for it, recognizing immediately that this lack of communication was proof of how close they really were. Everyone except little Kain Fuery who had been transferred under Mustang's unit at the age of nineteen and, while in awe of both his superiors, had genuinely wondered if this ever led to any confusion and misunderstandings between the two.

The guys had scoffed at him when he had asked this at lunch a few months after his transfer. Falman had made no reply, remaining quietly thoughtful. Havoc had chuckled, and Breda had made a crack about "intimate knowledge". Maes Hughes, who had been visiting Lieutenant Colonel Mustang that week, had been the only one to say "Finally, we get a kid with a good head on his shoulders!"

After the Brigadier General's death, this was the memory by which Fuery recalled Hughes most often. It had meant a lot to the Communications Expert at the time, being the youngest member of the group, to be acknowledged by Lieutenant Colonel Hughes like that. And as time had gone by and Fuery had effectively "grown a spine" as Havoc put it, the young Captain had come to the conclusion that he had been right all those years ago. It wasn't that Mustang and Hawkeye didn't communicate because they didn't need to…he was sure now that they didn't know _how _to. After all, how does one learn to talk if he spends all his life giving nonverbal commands that are followed to a T?

Fuery had known how the Fuhrer felt when Hawkeye was leaving. He had also known what Hawkeye must be going through. What he couldn't fathom was why they weren't talking about it. Surely even yelling and screaming would be better than the cold silences that seeped into the office those last few months before the General left?

And what was worse, he hadn't done anything about it either. He could hardly preach the virtues of communication when he, the man who made it his business to know who was saying what, where and when, had remained mute and watched her leave.

No, Captain Fuery had made the mistake of staying quiet once. He was not going to do it again. Even if it led to nothing, at least he would be able to talk to the woman whom he had unknowingly given the place of surrogate mother/sister for too many years now.

Picking up the receiver with feverish fingers, the Captain dialed the operator. "Hello, Captain Kain Fuery from the Fuhrer's office here. Connect me to the Dublith Military Base ASAP!"

* * *

><p>"So… what do we do now?" Roy was the first to speak in the wake of all that had been discussed earlier. Somehow, they had both ended up on the sofa again, and his arms had found their way around her while her head rested on his broad shoulder.<p>

"You have to go back, Sir." The words stabbed at him as if they had physical mass.

"And you?"

"I can't," she said simply, and he understood. He couldn't ask more from her than she had already given him.

"You know I love you, right?"

"It's starting to sink in," she replied with a small smile.

Silence enveloped them once more, and the alchemist would have been content to sit there with Hawkeye for all eternity. But a few minutes later, she spoke again.

"Besides, I made a promise to you, and I still intend to keep it."

Just the mention of that particular promise made Roy feel hollow inside. After all that he had done, surely she wouldn't still be thinking about..?

"But General, you don't have to… I would understand, and it's my burden to bear, you… can't, not for me…"

"Wrong again, Sir. _Only_ for you."

* * *

><p>Iolanth Mustang rounded the corner of level two, followed by Jean Havoc who was currently in the process of searching his pockets for a lighter. Damn it all, he hadn't smoked all day, and if he didn't get a nicotine fix soon, he was going to have a nervous breakdown.<p>

There were voices coming from up ahead, but Havoc couldn't be bothered. He was a Lieutenant General, after all, and everyone else who was of a higher rank knew him well enough not to grudge him a smoke. "Excuse me, Your Ladyship but it really has been a taxing day," he muttered when he finally located the item in question and reached to light his cigarette just as the metal doors to the human resources subdivision office opened, revealing the idiot Colonel, Breda, His Excellency and - after all this time – Hawkeye.

Havoc barely noticed the cigarette falling to the ground as his lips parted in a silent gasp.

* * *

><p>They introduced her as Elizabeth Grumman. They said she worked in Human Resources at the base. Not even a real soldier. They were obviously lying.<p>

Because the moment Iolanth Mustang laid eyes on the woman standing respectfully two feet behind Roy, she had known, _just known_, that this was the mysterious Riza Hawkeye. The realization was so simple and silly and painful that the princess had wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Until she laid eyes on this Riza, she had thought she could perhaps talk it over with Roy, maybe reach an understanding, make room in his heart for two…

Now she realized how ridiculous that notion had been.

Because right there, standing behind and a little to her husband's left, it was clear to everyone in the room that the understated woman should be standing _beside_ him. Not her, not Princess Iolanth Lukashenko, First Lady of Amestris. No, it was this quiet woman with brownish red eyes that looked to be a _part _of Roy. Iolanth had always known he loved this Riza deeply, but seeing them together was like seeing her husband's image _completed_ for the first time.

All the questions she had wanted to ask, all the accusations she had fancied hurling at him all the while knowing she never would, everything she had wanted to say died on her lips as she stared at the woman standing two feet behind Roy Mustang.

"Excuse me, Elizabeth, there's a call for you at reception from a Captain Fuery, Central base, I believe," Colonel McPherson's voice jolted the First Lady out of her trance. And just like that, Riza Hawkeye was leaving. A polite nod to His Excellency, a soft "excuse me" to Her Ladyship, a discreet glance at the various Generals and Colonel and she was out of the room and, Iolanth couldn't help thinking, out of their lives once again.

Finally, the exhaustion of the day registered, and the princess sank down on a nearby sofa, closing her eyes.

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang stepped into the small train compartment and offered a hand to his wife, who took it tentatively. The cold morning air was chilly, but he doubted that was the only reason Iolanth was shivering. All night, she had been feverish and restless, and a journey to Central couldn't do her any good right now. But still she had insisted on accompanying him back, and he had a feeling he knew what this was about.<p>

Once they were comfortably seated, she looked him directly in the eye.

"Roy, how much would you say a husband should respect his wife?"

Sighing in defeat, the Fuhrer lowered his head. "Enough to tell her the truth."

To his surprise, she slowly reached out a hand and entwined her fingers with his, a Drachman gesture of friendship and loyalty. Her eyes, when he finally mustered the courage to look into them, were warm green pools of understanding, and not for the first time, he realized how many people he had wronged in his quest for the greater good.

"I suppose you can say it all started in Ishval. I was only twenty at the time and just promoted to State Alchemist and a Major…"

* * *

><p><em>Dear Riza,<em>

_Yes, your last letter did find me "safe and sound". And if you ever write something so formal again, I'm going to come down there and kick your ass. Who do you think you are anyway, disappearing on your best girlfriend for years and then sending a bloody Dublith's Special Fruits Basket in lieu of an apology? Though to be fair, Jean did tell me the fruit basket was his idea. Apparently he wanted to see me lose my marbles. God, do you ever get the feeling he's the same hick we met back at the academy? _

_Anyway, as you might have surmised from the phone calls Kain has been nice enough to let everyone make (on The Fuhrer's expense, of course), everyone was ecstatic to hear from you. Do you know Sciezka actually cried? Though Falman said it must have just been the hormones. Being six months along is no joke. _

_Elysia and Gracia send their love too, as does Madam Christmas. At least, that's what it sounds like behind all that smoke. Breda has taken some time off to be with Chris, and even though he says she should have seen it coming, smoking like the chimney that she is, he's still going through a pretty rough time. Would you believe Roy extended another month's paid leave for him? Pretty uncharacteristic for the guy who almost burnt Breda alive when he found out about them. _

_And just to let you know, next time Jean comes down to Dublith, he won't be the only one. I've already requested leave-_

"Good morning, Liz! How you manage to get up so early every day, I will never understand," Lieutenant Ruby Dunne greeted the blonde as she entered the small office on level two. "Oh, sorry, were you reading? Hey, are those the new salary increases for the year?" she continued excitedly.

Her colleague put down the letter, looking up at Ruby from behind her square cut glasses. "No, just some personal correspondence."

"Oh, personal." The redhead playfully made to swipe the letter. "Could it be from the same person who keeps sending you all these flowers?"

"Afraid not," the blonde replied, but Lieutenant Dunne could see a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Oh, and by the way, could you tell your secret admirer to send bouquets like a _normal person?_' the Lieutenant joked, taking off her coat and hanging it on her chair. "I mean, who sends flowers _already _put in vases?"

Elizabeth only shrugged "Who indeed?"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> For those of you who wish for a happy ending for this fic, stop reading _right here_. I only have an epilogue to go but I can promise you it won't be happy. So for those who don't want to get their hearts stomped on, stop reading after this chapter! Oh who am I kidding, nearly all Royai fans (including myself) have a masochistic streak.

As usual, I love hearing your thoughts, so please send them my way.


	12. Only Almost Here

**Acknowledgement: **A note of sincerest thanks to Bookwrm389 for being the best beta a girl could have wished for. Thank you for putting up with the awful sentence structure, the late night emails, the general heartbreak and angst and for always, _always_ making me feel good about what I'd written. Also, my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who took the time to leave a review (save for narusasumi), favoritize this story, add it to their alerts, PM me to discus plot and/or point out cannon/plot inconsistencies. You guys kept me going throughout this whole train wreck of a fic!

* * *

><p><em>Only Almost Here…<em>

* * *

><p><span>Ten Years Later<span>

Under a dreary sky, Captain Denny Brosh passed the newsagent some cenz and thumbed through his paper listlessly. The weather had been morose for days, as though lying in wait for the final moment when the heavens could no longer contain their sorrow and burst forth with a flood of rain.

The soldier cast a cursory glance at the first page, which was still running the same story it had been for months albeit from different angles. Ever since the new law passed which modified the Fuhrership into an elected office - elected by the masses no less – the _Times_ had had a field day covering every aspect of this decision. The politics section pondered the effects of the new democracy on Amestris and its standing in the world while the gossip section not-so-subtly insinuated that the new decree was to blame for the retired Fuhrer and his ex-wife's recent divorce, despite both parties having released a joint statement insisting it was a mutual decision and that they wished each other the best of luck. The business section sought the silver lining by focusing on the expanded commerce that had opened up between Amestris, Drachma and Creta thanks to the new Amestrian Ambassador, Iolanth Lukashenko, who had been awarded that position in a settlement as some liked to think.

In Brosh's personal opinion, it didn't really matter how the former First Lady had gotten the position. It couldn't be denied that she was doing a lot of good with it. And a good economy had never hurt anyone, especially in these times.

However, the front page today had something else to announce, something that tore at the worn out man's heart too much to read it carefully. He merely noted the time, the venue as well as the listing of names, not bothering to look into the overly-dramatized _whys_ and the _hows_.

Tucking the paper under his arm and patting down his uniform one last time – full uniform, even though he wasn't required to, this was his sign of respect to them – Captain Denny Brosh made his way to Central High Court with heavy steps, hurrying slightly, afraid of the rain that could break out any minute.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth Grumman stepped off the train at Central Station, marveling at the fact that very little had changed in all the time she had been away. The grey benches were still grey and stiff, too few to actually accommodate all the passengers disembarking and still covered in graffiti. The ticket counters were still situated to the right, the station master still wore the ridiculous wig and carried the overlarge whistle he would never actually blow.<p>

"Come on, Riza, they're here," a blond head appeared beside her, and she smiled softly. Some things never changed, she supposed, including Jean Havoc wanting to get out of a locomotive as fast as possible. But he was right. They were indeed already there and waiting.

The retired General took her first steps on Central soil in a decade and a half, and she couldn't help feeling glad that she was taking that step towards _him._ Coming to him seemed like coming home in so many ways.

Though he had always been vastly different in appearance from her, she felt as though she was walking to a mirror image as she slowly made her way to the Flame Alchemist – accompanied by his own set of guards. His figure was slightly stooped with age, as was hers, his temples dusted with grey, as were hers. He wore thin-framed glasses just like her, his eyes full of an emotion she never thought she would live to see.

As she was sure, were hers.

There was quiet pride in her voice when she reached him and saluted – again, no longer a necessity but a habit too old to die out now – and in his as he greeted her. However, a moment later, she was forced to amend her opinion on everything being the same when Roy Mustang took her into his arms in front of everyone and kissed her on the forehead, securing her at his side with a silent promise to never let go.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Fuery, we have to go," General Breda said gruffly to the Major.<p>

"I… don't think I can," the younger man replied, his head lowered and eyes downcast.

The redhead didn't respond, simply made a noise at the back of his throat that let the Major know what he thought of his cowardly decision.

"I know what you're thinking, General. And yes, I don't have what it takes. _You _were the one who told me that some twenty years ago when I joined under His Excellency right? You told me I didn't have the stomach for the job, and you were right. Because if the 'job' involves watching those two commit the legal version of public suicide, then I don't," Fuery glared at the hard marble floor.

"It's all very easy for him. 'It's a new era for Amestris, we're doing it for the future, take care of Iolanth, assist her in her duties as ambassador.' But what about us poor sods who are going to be _around_ after they're gone?" The Major's vision was slowly becoming blurry behind his glasses as his monologue continued.

"I have every intention of following his orders. I've been doing so for too many years to count. But I made the one mistake they told me – _you told me_ – never to make. You and Havoc used to say that they're _not_ my parents, or my friends, and they don't exist for the sole reason of bailing me out of trouble and comforting me when I'm down. But somewhere along the line, I did end up believing that they were."

At the last sentence, Fuery's voice finally cracked. "And now you want me to watch them die? I'm sorry, Sir, I just can't."

For a moment, it seemed like Breda was going to agree or at least show some gesture of compassion towards the younger man. Certainly, his hand did move slightly from its position by his side. But the next moment, the redhead was turning away and muttering "Suit yourself" before heading out the door, leaving Kain Fuery to sink down on his desk in grief and sorrow to mourn the deaths that had yet to occur.

* * *

><p>He had made good on his promise, perhaps the most important one he had ever made. He hadn't let her move from his side all the way from the station to the court, one arm resting permanently around her. She had leaned on him all the way, and he had taken quiet pleasure at the ability to finally hold her like he had always wanted to in public, for all to see.<p>

And now as they walked with the guards to the center of the field, he noticed familiar faces all around. Havoc stood to one side, his hand hovering near Rebecca Catalina's as she watched the two prisoners being escorted to the execution ground. Breda stood next to Iolanth, who was wearing his own large overcoat over her clothes. He had no doubt this was just as hard on her as it was on any one of them. Roy offered her a smile even as he tightened his hold on the blonde by his side, and he hoped his apology would be clear. Falman stood discreetly in a corner, visible only because Roy was searching for his shock of grey hair. Sciezka was, no doubt, home with the girls. Fuery, as he had expected, was nowhere to be found.

In a way, he was glad really. Though the Major was now a grown man, to Roy, he would always remain the kid who had stammered "M-m-aster S-Sergeant Fain Kuery, at your service!" on his first day at the office. No, Fuery didn't need to see this. He was a good man, one who would live and shape this country into what it should be. At least he had Maria to help him through it

Some of Roy's sisters were also there, standing at the very edge of the crowd. Vanessa was openly crying, having somewhat settled into the role of Roy's caretaker as well as the bar's top hostess and owner after the Madame's death four years ago. He wasn't overly concerned. Business would always be booming for them.

The long recitation of war crimes finally ended, and now the firing squad was being asked to take their positions. Hawkeye looked up at him and he hoped his own eyes reflected as much peace as hers.

"Ready Sir?" she asked in a whisper, and he nodded, holding her closer still and feeling glad that his last breaths in this world would be tainted by the scent of her hair. His last tactile sensation would be the feel of her skin, and his last sight of her wine-colored eyes glittering golden in the last rays of sunlight.

"Stay close by, Lieutenant," he whispered back, not sure why he was using her old rank after so long.

_Ready!_

"I will," she assured him. "We made a promise, after all."

_**Aim!**_

"I love you…"

"I'll be right here, Sir," she said, locking her gaze with his.

_**FIRE!**_

* * *

><p>Iolanth Lukashenko felt the grass tickle her bare ankles as she stooped to place a fresh bouquet of flowers near the graves. It took some work, seeing as the small area was already so full of arrangements from so many people, and she could barely locate a spot for her own humble offering. It had been three months and the flow of flowers didn't seem to have slowed down one bit. She could see the yellow daisies Fuery usually left peaking out from behind Sciezka's lilies. An arrangement of violets similar to the one on Maes Hughes' grave not five feet away were also present, a testament to the fact that Gracia Hughes had been around recently too.<p>

The blonde took a moment to pray in silence. Roy had never been very religious, but she knew he would have appreciated the gesture. She herself had a firm belief in the almighty and knew that both Roy and the woman he loved – _the only woman he ever loved_ – were looking down on them from somewhere. And she was going to make them proud.

Burying her cold fingers into the pockets of Roy's black overcoat, the Ambassador felt the first drops of rain descending from the heavens above. Unknowingly, her personal guard came up behind her, a black umbrella already open.

"It's raining, Ma'am, we had better get going."

Breda never came to pay his respects. At least, that was what he would have people believe. The single blue rose left always between the two names on the headstones told a different story. Her eyes traced the first few drops of water making their way down the delicate petals and knew there would be a fresh one tomorrow in its place.

"I suppose you're right."

Taking a last look at the names and dates etched in stone, Iolanth felt glad she had insisted on the simple inscription that joined both the graves.

"_**They died as they lived, by each other's side."**_

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> *is shot by reviewers*

**Upcoming Project (s):** Getting some sleep (working on it), Reading "_The Toll_" (done - and it is full of win!) and "_Team Players_" by maryh10000, Studying for exams (see: getting some sleep), Turning 22 (on the 22nd), An Ishval related bunny that will not leave me alone (because my muse is addicted to angst).

PS: "_Dear Arakawa"_ hates me!

PPS: Happy Royai Day, everyone! Sorry I couldn't offer something happier.


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